August 11, Saturday

I guess we were really tired. We've been on the run since our feet hit British soil on June 5, and it caught up with us. We slept for ten hours. I didn't get tired in the afternoon around four as I had been, so must have needed the sleep. Bob has been fighting a chesty cough cold again all week. It's the second time this summer he's had it. I hope I don't get it again. It took me three weeks to shake it last time.

We walked into Bath town center as usual. First job was to make a BaBa for Canterbury. To make a BaBa is to Book A Bed Ahead, as service provided by Tourist Information Centers for a small fee. You cannot make a booking earlier than forty-eight hours before your arrival. This was Saturday. We were taking the bus to Canterbury on Monday. I wanted to get the BaBa done as soon as possible this busy time of year.

The TIC opened at nine-thirty. We were at the door at nine-thirty. The lady behind the desk made the call to Canterbury, and Canterbury replied in about fifteen minutes. Wonderful! Canterbury was faxing the details to Bath for me. I waited for a half hour. The lady called Canterbury. They were still trying to fax the paperwork. I stood around the TIC for another half hour. Bob had long before removed himself to a bench outside on the Abbey Square. The TIC was crazy busy by then. Still nothing from Canterbury. I said I'd check back later.

We strolled down the lane to the Beautiful Street, and found our way blocked by an olive bar with a tent over it! The Saturday market was in full swing. Well, an olive bar. That couldn't have been better. It took a few minutes, but finally we decided on a selection of olives for our lunches and teas. Since we had the olives, we now needed an entrée. A stop at the Cornish Bakehouse out of St. Ives took care of that.

We carefully carried our pasties and olives back to the TIC for another try at getting our paperwork. Turns out the fax at Canterbury was down. A smiling lady handed me a printed contract. Canterbury had emailed it instead. Both of us were relieved to get that job done.

We walked to Parade Park on the riverside, and paid the Concessions (Senior) rate of seventy pence to get in. That price even included a sling lawn chair, if you could get one. We were more interested in the teahouse. We bought two Ribena Black Current Juice boxes there. Then we chose a metal umbrella table on the lawn, set out our pasties, olives, and juice, and had a lovely lunch.

After lunch we sat on a bench and vegetated for a while, then climbed the steps back up to the street. We strolled to the Abbey Church Yard. Like Orvis from Vermont, Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream from Vermont had also moved into Bath. We had a smallish sundae in a paper cup that cost five pounds. That five pounds translated into ten dollars for each sundae, and frankly, they weren't that good.

From the Abbey Church Yard we moved to the side of the Abbey and onto a bench in the Abbey Square. That's where we spent the afternoon. A classic xylophone player serenaded us for a couple of hours. A straggly group of anti-war demonstrators stationed themselves in front of the abbey for a while. We could see them from the location of our bench. After some time they were gone. The Square and Church Yard were crowded with tourists and folk who had come to town for the market. People watching was at its best.

Teatime came and as was our habit, we hauled ourselves up and headed for home. For tea we had hot tea, some sesame crackers, and the rest of the olives. After that Bob gave me a haircut and we read for a while.

At nine o'clock we walked back into town to see it at night. The streets were deserted except for couples walking to restaurants or wherever. The Square where we had watched the crowds in the afternoon was almost empty. A fellow slept on a bench in jeans and a t-shirt, his arms wrapped around himself in the night-time chill.

The Pump Room restaurant was still open in the Abbey Church Yard. The outdoor tables were full of diners. Potted palms had been placed around the perimeter of the tables to give an air of elegance. At the far end of the Court Yard another lost soul was sleeping on a bench. His various bags were piled beside the bench, and he was using a bag full of something for a pillow. Without the mobs of people, we discovered lanes around the Abbey we didn't know existed. The Abbey was impressive, all lit up by floodlights. I took several photos.

It was a nice stroll back home in the glow of the streetlights. There were tables outside with diners at other restaurants along our way. Glasses clinked and laughter floated over the quiet street. Stars twinkled above the black silhouettes of the buildings and the Gothic towers of the Abbey floated above it all.

August 12, Sunday

This was our last day in Bath. It was sunny, but with a cool breeze from the southwest.

We spent the day lounging in old-fashioned canvas sling lawn chairs in Parade Park. We got there early, so were able to nest in a prime place right at riverside. We watched the boat tours go up and down the river. There were fishermen at the edge of the weir for our entertainment. Interesting people strolled past us on the riverside walkway. I wrote in this log; Bob read and snoozed. It was a lovely way to spend the day.

Later in the morning, as I crossed the park to the WC, there was a group of ten or twelve women in their early twenties sitting on the lawn having a party. Each one had on a rhinestone tiara with hot pink fluff along the bottom edge. Each one had a large yellow plastic bag. They probably held party favors and lunches. I think this one was a birthday party.

It is quite the thing in Britain for, particularly, stag and bachelorette parties to have a theme. Remember the cowboys and Indians and Mexicans coming out of the pub in Warwick while we waited for a taxi? In Oban we saw a group of young women walking down the street, all of them in jeans, plaid shirts, and big pink cowboy hats. We didn't know what these costume events were until someone explained it to us.

Around lunch time we picked up our lawn chairs and carried them along the riverside walkway to the park tea take-away. This time we bought our whole lunch at the teashop. We split a baguette with cheese and chutney, chocolate cake, and had tea for two. We sat at one of the little metal umbrella tables to eat lunch, with our lawn chairs folded beside us. No one was going to get our chairs even if we weren't sitting in them for lunch.

After lunch we carried the chairs back down the walkway to the riverside lawn. There were a few others who had also chosen that part of the green, but we were able to claim our former spot. The afternoon wended its peaceful way until about four-thirty when the breeze turned more chill. We gave up our lawn chairs, and walked back to Ashley House.

After freshening up, went over to the pub with the computer for a couple of hours. We wanted to get out email caught up, because who knows when we would have wireless access again? We split a burger there for supper. We made our last walk from the Royal Oak to Ashley House, and spent the evening packing.

CANTERBURY

August 13, Monday

A taxi came at 9:15 to take us to the bus station. The National Express bus left at 9:45 for London Victoria Coach Station. It got into Victoria at l:00 p.m. We bought a long skinny baguette with tuna and cucumber, a bag of salt and vinegar chips, and a big apple. We ate lunch on the bus.

We got into Canterbury at 3:30 p.m. and took taxi to B&B, Wincheap Guesthouse. The guesthouse was at the end of a row of terraced houses in an old neighborhood. Wincheap House was a bright spot with pots and pots of red geraniums in the paved front garden. T owner was out. He left a note with his mobile phone number on the door. But we didn't want to call him then. We had hooked up with an earlier bus and were hours before we had been expected.

We parked our suitcases among the geraniums. Bob babysat the luggage while I walked up and down the street to size up the place and find wine. I found a post office, two newsagents, a fish and chips, a pub, and a small grocery store that sold wine, all within walking distance. I bought a bottle of wine. Then I babysat the luggage while Bob walked down to the little grocery store and made arrangements with them to order the USA Today newspaper for him for this week.

When Bob got back, we decided to call the owner. He was just getting out of his car behind the house when he got my call. I was in the front of the house talking to him in the back of the house. He was at the door in minutes, and in just a few more minutes he and we got our luggage upstairs and we were in. The room was bright and spacious and overlooked the street. We could watch the world go by.

Wincheap Guesthouse was run by a single fellow in, I would guess, his forties. He offered us a beer, and we sat and chatted in the breakfast room. He said he'd had the guesthouse for eighteen years. He told us he kept company with a woman who has her own B&B a couple of blocks down the street. He talked about the King's Head which was “his” pub, the neighborhood, and the town. We felt quite at home.

In our room later we had supper of Leicester cheese (stored for nine days for us in the Ashley House frig), crackers, tea, digestive biscuits, and some dark chocolate bar. The wine I had bought in the little grocery was horrible. It tasted like vinegar. Like a good trouper, I drank it anyway. So did Bob. He didn't think it was so bad. I had an upset stomach all night and for two days afterwards. I dumped the rest of it down the toilet.

August 14, Tuesday

I was raining when we got up. The breakfast at our Guest House on Wincheap Street cheered us, though. There was fresh, fresh fruit. I'm not talking bananas and apples. I'm talking big raspberries, huge blackberries, fresh pineapple, melon chunks, and whole strawberries. Each piece of fruit was perfect, and it all was presented in a beautiful glass sectioned dish. Dishes of yogurt and double cream stood nearby. Was this gustatory elegance, or what?

I had been on the usual hunt for an internet connection. I found a closed network named “Joe's” Our host was named Joe. Bob stopped in the kitchen on the way to breakfast and asked Joe if that was his network and if we could use it. He said he just had the network set up for the use of his guests, and we were the first to inqure about it. Bob asked for a password.

“Password?”

“Yes. We need a password to get on your network.”

It turned out that a friend had set the computer and network up for Joe, and all Joe knew was that when he signed on, he was on the internet. He thought everyone else did the same thing. He said he'd ask his friend about a password.

We stuffed our raingear and umbrellas into our backpacks, and set out for the day. The sidewalks were still wet and the sky grey, but it wasn't raining. Again, we had a perfect location. Thank you, Tourist Information Centers. We had a straight walk into town of about eight blocks. Wincheap Street is a busy secondary road in front of the guest house. Two blocks from the house we walked through a subway under the circle drive around the city. When we came up, we were on Castle Street, an old, quiet, narrow lane. We strolled past Tudor and Norman buildings and just plain old buildings on our way to the town center. It was pleasant and picturesque.

We rambled around town for a while to learn the streets, then wended our way back to Canterbury Cathedral. An ancient street, Mercery Lane, took us right back into the medieval. The lane was narrow and dark with shop signs hanging above. A tall ornate Gothic stone gate with a large green figure of Christ in the center filled the end of the lane. This was Christ Church Gate. It led to the churchyard of Canterbury Cathedral.

Canterbury Cathedral is not a big cathedral, as ancient cathedrals go. Only one king was ever buried there. But Thomas a Beckett was murdered there, within sacred walls, on December 29 in 1170. Four murderers attacked and killed a well-known, defenseless, clergyman within a building that was a sanctuary. Thomas' martyrdom soon elevated the cathedral to a center of pilgrimage, which it remains to this day. A lone candle burns in the cathedral still, 837 years later, for Thomas a Beckett. Then, a few hundred years later, Geoffrey Chaucer wrote his Canterbury Tales, a story of pilgrims traveling from London to Canterbury to worship Beckett. Those famous tales further embellished the Canterbury legend.

Canterbury is a beautiful and interesting cathedral. They have interpretive signage as well as audio guides throughout the church. Just taking the audio tour takes almost two hours, longer if you read the signage along the way. As I walked along the dim corridor to lower level chapels, I noticed a young man in black robes sitting quietly in a high-backed wooden chair in a dark nook. That was certainly a non-obtrusive way to oversee what the tourists were doing. I wondered how many more figures in dark corners I hadn't observed.

After we toured the inside of the cathedral, we walked around the cloister and strolled through the gardens. The cathedral was beautiful beige stone, even though scarred and crumbling from the ages. That is the restored building. There were massive scaffolds covering a large section of the church where stone carvers, masons, and other skilled workers were cleaning and repairing the walls, stone by stone. A large display sign explained the ongoing work, which was amazingly complex and time consuming.

As we wandered around a corner of the backside of the cathedral, we came upon a small courtyard and adjacent walls that were black with age. Some of the ashlars were cracked and pieces of decorative stonework lay on the ground. That gave us some idea of the condition of the building and the immensity of the restoration work.

There were two gift shops associated with the cathedral. We shopped at both of them for gifts to take home. I also shopped for a gift for Ruth, myself. I would really like a hardbound copy of an edited version of the Canterbury Tales in modern English. Paperback versions abound. I have a rather nice paperback one at home, but I'd like a hardcover. The only hardbound ones I have found in stores or online are in Middle English. The same thing was true at the cathedral gift shops; paperback in modern English, hardbound in Middle English. I lose.

As we walked into town in the morning, we passed The Custard Tart Café and Patisserie. That name just tickled me. I wanted to eat at the Custard Tart. So we went back there for a late lunch. Golden custard tarts were lined up in the showcases in the first floor bakery. They did look good! We climbed the very narrow old spiral wooden stairs to the upstairs tearoom and snagged a table near the window. We could look down at the activity on Margaret Street as we enjoyed our lunch. I decided to forgo the custard tart for my usual cream tea; two scones, thick clotted cream and strawberry jam, washed down with hot tea. Bob had a ham sandwich.

While we were having our tea, sudden winds whipped driving rain against the window. We sighed and dug our rain gear out of our backpacks, shoved ourselves into it, then descended the spiral staircase and went on our way. We turned left out of The Custard Tart, cut through a shopping arcade, and got to Marks and Spencer. Marks and Spencer is the Super Walmart of Britain, and they've been around forever. They carry food and clothes, housewares and tools. We were interested in their food. We bought eight oranges and two bottles of Australian wine. The wine went into Bob's backpack and the oranges into mine.

We were tramping back down Margaret Street with our heads down into the driving rain when the bottles of wine decided to leave home. They crashed to the cobblestones. Green glass and wine flew everywhere, including onto my white Capri pants. We stood there, aghast, and stared at the mess. A woman ran out of a nearby shoestore into the rain with a brush and dustpan. She swept a lot of the glass up. We snapped into action and tried to help. The woman dumped the glass into the bag that originally held the wine. We picked up glass with our hands and we tossed that into the bag, too. The woman ran back into her store, pursued by our shouted thanks. The rain washed the wine down among the stones.We continued to pick up glass until we figured we had it all.

Bob's backpack gaped open. We thought at first the pack had split. But just the zipper had parted with the weight of the wine. Bob went over to the arcade to get out of the wind and rain and fix the zipper on his pack. I slogged back to Marks and Spencer and got two more bottles of wine.

All the way home the wind and rain drove into our faces. A woman ahead of us nearly took off like Mary Poppins with her umbrella. I expected it to turn inside out, but it didn't. We slopped into the guesthouse and up to our warm room. Soon wet clothes hung all over the room like in a tenement kitchen. Bob went down to see Joe and get the password. No luck. The fellow who had set up the network was a trucker, and he was gone for the rest of the week.

We just shut the door, drew the drapes, and holed up in our room. Supper was lentil soup from a dry mix, a scone I had brought home from lunch, the rest of the Leicester cheese, an orange—and—a glass of warming Australian wine.