Eurasian Hobos

Surreal Portmeirion

2011-12-29T06:26:00.001+09:00

Portmeirion is truly surreal. It looks one part Hollywood Hills, two parts Italian, one part Buddhist, and half Dr. Seuss. The private homes here are the work of a Welsh architect and are most famous for being the set of the 1960's TV show The Prisoner. The place is difficult to describe, so I'll leave it to the pictures.

I passed this archway on my way to and from the train station. The warped wood, mixed stone, and clinging garden combined in a manner that struck me as the perfect example of quaint rural British beauty.

By train I made my way out of Wales to Chester, back in England.

Harlech Castle

2011-12-29T06:20:00.000+09:00

Harlech Castle looks impregnable, but was in fact captured so many times that it is nicknamed the 'Castle of Lost Causes'. It is hard to imagine the force that would be able to overcome the steep rock hill, much less the high walls above it. Even from the train station the castle dominated the skyline.

I loved the remains of the chimney. Something about the cutaway round stone spire was striking.

This was another tower not meant for those uncomfortable with heights.

The contrast between the courtyard and the seascape beyond the walls was so great that looking through the doorways and windows seemed like looking at paintings, or into Narnia.

Mist hung on the mountains in the other direction.

Beside the castle was an odd statue of a king bearing the body of his dead nephew.

From Harlech I took the train to the bizarre Utopian community of Portmeirion.

Conwy

2011-12-29T06:07:00.001+09:00

Conwy castle towers over the town it protected.

The walk through the castle and up its eight massive towers is not for those with a fear of heights.

I love the understated signs in Britain:

The towers overlook the shore and the contemporaneous walls around the town.

From the far side of the mostly intact wall, the view is almost as good, and now includes the castle.

Near the shore was the smallest home in Britain, which actually belonged to a quite tall fisherman.

Also in town is an Elizabethan townhouse. It is supposed to be a major attraction, but for whatever reason I am far less interested in old buildings that wouldn't hold up to a siege.

From Conwy I passed through Bangor yet again to return for another night in Caernarfon. While at the hostel I had a short panic when I thought I had lost my key to the room safe, though eventually I found it had simply been deep within my pocket.

Beaumaris Castle

2011-12-29T05:58:00.002+09:00

In the morning I took the first series of buses up to the Isle of Anglesey. The route took us through Bangor and Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. I know it looks like I slammed my face into the keyboard repeatedly in the middle of typing, but that is that town's actual name. The sign across the bus station was nearly as long as the building.

My destination was Beaumaris castle, the largest of Edward I's castles commanding Northern Wales. It pretty much looks like the Platonic form of a castle.

From there I bused back to Bangor and on to Conwy.

Caernarfon Castle

2011-12-29T05:54:00.001+09:00

I would nominate Caernarfon Castle as the castle I saw on my trip most likely to be used in a Disney movie. Caernarfon Castle was meant to be the center of the English government in Wales and to house the royal palace. Its design is quite pretty. Its polygonal towers are banded with layers of different color masonry overlooking the bay, and it is well maintained/reconstructed.

The glass overlook from the secondary gate is where the royal family addressed the crowds when naming Charles as the Prince of Wales. An exhibit of the crowning and other royal visits was just inside.

The platform looks out over a quaint square, where I later had a lunch of Welsh stew, which bore a striking resemblance to Irish stew.

The main gate is even more imposing, even after already climbing the ramparts to its opening.

It was possible to walk between the walls to the tops of each tower, so of course I did precisely that. Some towers contained exhibits, including one on the Royal Welsh Fusiliers infantry regiment and one on Edward the First's military campaigns and castle strategy.

Some of the weathered tower tops were quite striking.

Walking around the outside, I was intrigued by this section of the wall that was clearly either intended to be extended or had been demolished at some point.

After my leisurely tour and late lunch, I walked around the city walls, which were built at the same time as the castle and which originally no Welsh people could enter. I then walked by the docks and up a nearby hilltop park to look out over the castle. During the walk up I saw some teenagers get busted for drinking and littering and get put to work helping the cops clean up the trash in the park.

The view was nice, both of the castle and the surrounding shore and town.

After a low-key evening and more questionable meatloaf, I spent another night at the hostel, which was a block away from the castle.

St. Davids, Haverford West, and far too much time spent in transit

2011-12-29T05:46:00.000+09:00

I arrived in St. Davids just in time to see the cathedral at dusk. St. Davids is Britain's smallest city. In the U.K., the distinction between city and town is not a matter of population but of the rank of the church building erected there, so by virtue of the cathedral St. Davids would be considered to be a city even if no one lived there, which is close to true since the population is under 2,000.

That night I bought meat and eggs to go with a loaf of bread which had completely crumbled in order to make meatloaf. Stocked with supplies, I walked out the two miles to the local hostel which was, of course, closed until Easter. I tried to sleep under a tree nearby, but it was too rainy and cold, so I walked back to the city to try to find some ruins or anywhere sheltered to sleep. I failed. Eventually I gave in and got a room in a bed and breakfast.

The cathedral looked much the same in the early morning as it had the evening before.

The distinctive purple stone on the main entrance did make quite the impression, though.

Across a small stream was the old bishop's palace.

Black and white checkered bricks and tiles were a common theme in this ruin.

There was a nice view of the cathedral from this former mansion.

From St. Davids I backtracked off of the peninsula. The day involved ten and a half hours of time in transit or waiting for public transit. Wales' transportation system sucks compared to that in England and Scotland, especially in terms of frequency. Among my layovers was one in Haverford West, where I looked at the shell of the old castle and wandered the shops.

I noticed that the Welsh brewing company's logo seemed to be warning of zombie dragons:

Also in Haverford West, I bought Canterbury Tales and On the Roadfrom the Oxfam bookshop. The British Heart Association, Aid for the Elderly,Breast Cancer Cure, and other causes all have stores that have volunteers selldonations to raise money for their cause. I donated the books I'd finished so far on my travels: Tolstoy's Resurection and an early sci-fi work by Arthur C. Clark. Thankfully I called ahead to the hostel in Porthmadog so that I found out in advance that it was full and that the nearby castle is closed on Sundays anyway (Sunday was the bane of my travels). Thus, I went on to Caernarfon. On the last leg of the trip, a bunch of rowdy guys were loudly speaking Welsh and consuming large quantities of alcohol. The bus driver even waited while they got more bottles and cans to openly drink on the bus then toss to the floor. I somehow don't think that would fly on the bus in most parts of the US.

In the hostel in Caernarfon, I made an ill-advised meatloaf with the ingredients I had left unrefrigerated in my pack for about twenty-four hours now, along with the crumbled bread that was by this point slightly off despite still being sealed. Surprisingly, there were no adverse effects of this foolhardy choice. Sometimes I'm amazed I'm still alive.

Carreg Cennen Castle and Onward

2011-12-29T05:39:00.000+09:00

In the morning I took a bus out to Llandeilo. From there it was a three mile walk to Carreg Cennen castle. Along the way I saw dozens of dead frogs on a small stretch of the road and dozens more splotches that may have once been frogs. I have no idea what happened to cause that. The castle was impressive, even from a distance, overlooking the fields from its high bluff.

Inside the ruins, a small passage lead to natural limestone tunnels, which contain a well.

Had I known that there would be no one around for miles, that the castle is left unfenced and unlocked, and that these tunnels existed I would have slept here. The caverns would be excellent shelter from the elements.

Once I had my fill of looking down the limestone cliffs over the fields, I walked back to town, then took a bus to Carmarthan. I had a layover there before the train went through, and so I wandered the shopping streets and visited the very ruined castle in town. From there I went on by train and bus to St. Davids.

Kidwelly Castle

2011-12-29T05:34:00.002+09:00

Kidwelly Castle is fantastic.

I don't know what to say about it other than my usual 'castles are awesome' spiel.

I always enjoy sketches of how the castles would have looked at the time of their peak use.

I ended the day in Llanelli, which was frustrating in that it had highly misleading 'tourist information' signs that didn't actually go anywhere because the tourist information office had been closed. After walking in circles following the signs and maps, I eventually made my way to the tourist information shop for the wetland conservation center three miles from the town center, where I lodged a complaint about the deeply irresponsible signs. I did get directed to a relatively cheap bed and breakfast, which was the goal in the first place, so it worked out. I had an early night to momentarily recuperate from my manic travel style.

Tintern Abbey

2011-12-29T05:29:00.004+09:00

Tintern Abbey is another majestic ruin.

I wondered at the significance of these nestled doors:

The interesting shape of the columns was all the more apparent when they were broken.

I felt lucky to flag down the bus in the dark. Upon my returned to Cardiff I ate kebabs then watched another movie in the hostel common room while getting my internet fix.

Chepstow Castle

2011-12-29T05:25:00.002+09:00

Chepstow castle is one of the oldest in Wales and sits right upon the border with England.

I liked the stairwell in the great hall that was clearly meant to start from a second floor that no longer exists.

The castle gatehouse holds beautifully weathered wooden doors that date from 1159-89.

The castle is actually best viewed from across the river in England, so I walked into the neighboring country.

The imposing cliffs over the river bank make it obvious why the castle was built in this location.

Once I'd taken in the view I walked back into Wales and caught the bus to Tintern Abbey.

Cardiff

2011-12-29T04:37:00.002+09:00

From Caerphilly, I returned to Cardiff to actually tour the castle there. The castle was built on the grounds of an old Roman fort, and some sections of the Roman wall still remain. The main buildings are neo-Gothic Victorian, and look like a collection of varied architectural styles.

I took the tour of the interior. The part I found most interesting was a bedroom tiled with depictions of fairy tale characters, some of them rather gruesome.

The styles of decoration varied heavily, though all were ornate and gaudy.

The rooftop terrace chapel had depictions of biblical scenes on the wall, depicting great family values like being willing to kill your child if the voices in your head tell you to do so.

The main area is devoted to a garden. The motte and bailey of the Norman castle was kept, but only as a centerpiece for the garden.

One of the owners at one point was a history enthusiast, and so reconstructed a section of the wall of the Roman fort, including the gatehouse.

After touring the castle I visited the Cardiff Art Museum. My favorites included series of painting of the same places painted over the years by various artists in various styles, and a three panel painting of an eerie house from both the inside and out. When the museum closed I returned to the hostel and watched a movie in the common room before going out to watch Avatar in theatres.

The next morning I walked beside a daffodil lined stream to Cardiff Bay. Fans of Doctor Who and its spin-off of Torchwood should recognize this plaza, which is named for Welsh author Roald Dahl. The plaza is visually dominated by the Wales Millennium Center, arts complex notable for its purple slate walls and the massive banner of words made from the windows above the main entrance. In English it says "In these stones horizons sing." The Welsh reads "Creu Gwir fel gwydr o ffwrnais awen," which Wikipedia translated for me as "Creating truth like glass from the furnace of inspiration."

The dragon-red brick Pierhead building is adjacent to the purple Millennium center. As usual, I was a fan of the grotesques and gargoyles.

The building that houses the National Assembly of Wales is right behind these two colorful buildings, but it seems I wasn't impressed enough to photograph it.

From the bay I walked back into the center of the city to catch a bus to Chepstow.

Caerphilly, my favorite castle

2011-12-28T08:26:00.000+09:00

By now it must be clear that I'm weirdly obsessed with castles. Thus, when I say a castle is my favorite, it is like picking a favorite child. Caerphilly wins, for numerous reasons.

First, it's the largest castle in Wales, which is impressive in and of itself. More importantly for me, it is incredibly well designed, a wonder of defensive architecture:

Mostly, though, it hits that perfect mix of ruined and reconstructed. Usually castles have either not been maintained at all (in which case they are more a pile of rocks than buildings), they have been altered beyond recognition (often into stately homes), or they have been reconstructed accurately (which is better than the other cases, but still loses that sense of mystery, power, and wonder of a good ruin). Caerphilly, on the other hand, fell into ruin but was reconstructed fairly recently, and only reconstructed to the extent that historians were certain of the original form. Thus towers remain standing, though sometimes barely, and the general form of the castle is easy to see, yet that feeling of discovery and of standing in awe of the power of time isn't whitewashed over.

Before the castle opened I wandered around moat, appreciating the reflections and the massive main gate.

Still waiting, I picked up some meat pies and pasties and ate them on park benches across from the castle and near a tree carved into a dragon.

I gleefully entered at the appointed hour.

Through the inner wall was a display of siege weaponry. I didn't realize before how much twisted rope was involved in firing a ballista or catapult.

Another display showed defensive walkways overhanging the walls. Note the figure in the murder hole.

As I mentioned before, the partly ruined bits were my favorite:

I of course climbed the mostly reconstructed great hall (and any other stairs that weren't blocked off), which offered some nice views.

If you somehow still want to see more, I took dozens more pictures.

Introduction to Wales: Cardiff and Machen

2011-12-27T19:10:00.002+09:00

Let me start by saying I love Wales. They have a dragon on their flag and as their national symbol, including on top of Cardiff city hall:

Further, they have the most castles per area of any country in the world. Mind you, these castles were mostly put there by the English, so the Welsh see them much the way Koreans see Japanese cherry blossoms: a beautiful and bitter reminder of years of foreign occupation. This was actually my second visit to Wales. Previously I had only been to Pembroke to catch the ferry to Ireland. Pembroke Castle was one of the first real castles I'd ever seen and was all I'd hoped for. In 2006 Dan, Elana, Mark, and I had an interesting introduction to the country. We took the train from London, but the tracks were under repair for a section and so we were bused. However, the buses were too slow and we missed our connection, so the railroad put us in cabs. We happened to share a cab with a friendly Welshman. It took several minutes before I even realized he was speaking English, and several more to understand his accent (and I think it took everyone else even longer), but we eventually realized he was offering us a place to stay. He owned a pub and his friend ran a bed and breakfast above it, and he let us stay for free. This may be the root of my overly optimistic attitude towards travel planning. He made suggestions of how we spend the morning before boarding the ferry, which is how we ended up seeing the castle, which made an impression on me.

Most other castles in Wales also did not disappoint, even after the dozens of castles I'd already seen on this 2010 trip. Be thankful I didn't visit all six hundred in the country (you'll probably get sick of castle pictures by the end even with the couple dozen I did see). One that was sub-par, however, was Castle Cardiff. This is mostly because it has been renovated so many times that it is more a stately home than a medieval defense, and it is the latter that fascinates me. On my arrival I only walked around the castle's outer walls and neighboring park.

The wall around the park had incorporated watchful stone animals at regular intervals:

In the park I had the sudden thought that daffodil was clearly a Welsh word judging by the spelling. It turn out I was wrong and that the etymological roots are actually a mix of English and Dutch and that Welsh actually call the flower cennin Petr, or St. Peter's leeks. The daffodil is a national symbol of Wales, however, and they are all over the place.

The park also contained a (new) stone circle and some art:

I was in Cardiff on this day to pick up some mail from Mad's aunt, who was kind enough to be my address in the U.K. My debit card was set to expire during the trip, which would have left me pretty stranded since you don't exactly expect to see a U.S. bank branch in Britain. I met with her and managed to talk my way into coming to stay the night in her home in the Cardiff suburb of Machen. I also got to meet her husband, a fellow philosopher who was writing a book of philosophy. I went on a walk through the hills just past their house at sunset at their excellent recommendation. The woods were filled with mist and mud and beauty.

I made it up to a ridge to fully witness the sunset.

I even managed to find my way back in time for delicious vegetarian Indian dinner and to watch Persepolis.

Bath

2011-12-27T13:41:00.003+09:00

From Winchester I went to Bath. After checking into the hostel I wandered the beautifully lit streets and ate Nepalese food.

In the morning I laughed at the transliterated names in a Korean translation of the complete works of Shakespeare. For example, Macbeth is "Maekbedeu" since there is no 'th' sound in Korean.

Hamlet becomes "Haem-leet", Claudius is Keul-lo-di-i-seu. Ro-jeun-keu-raen-cheu and Gil-deun-seu-teon are dead. Okay, I'll stop myself now.

My first stop was Bath Abbey. The front facade depicts a rather literal interpretation of Jacob's Ladder.

There is also a nice view of the abbey from the ancient Roman bath.

The two thousand year old complex is remarkably well preserved. The cover for the great pool, made from light-weight hollow arches, has been replaced (everything from the base of the pillars upward is from one of the many reconstructions over the years), but everything at the actual level of the pools is intact.

Some bits of the original ceiling remain:

Around the pool were a couple of guys in period costume and acted in character. They told me how I was bold for wearing a beard, which at the time would have been a political statement in support of an upstart figure. Sadly, I forget both exactly what they said and the Roman history I used to know, so I can't tell you exactly who my beard was supporting. In any case, I enjoyed their period banter and chatted with them for some time.

Inside are smaller baths at different temperatures, as well as the remains of a temple. Many artifacts from the temple remain, such as various relief carvings

including the head of a gorgon.

The centerpiece was the gilt-bronze head of a statue of Goddess Sulis Minerva.

My favorite part was a collection of lead sheets that had been inscribed with curses, most of them for petty reasons. Whereas we keep our silent hope for an asshole who cuts us off to get a flat or drive off a cliff, the Romans would write down their desires for vengeance and toss them here for the gods or furies to see. Many of the complaints were about thefts from the changing room.

Also under the newer constructions are the old workings of the springs, and the various pools that they feed into. Many rooms still have the hollow floors where hot water would have run underneath to keep the saunas warm, and the original smaller pools are mostly intact, though often no longer full. None of the pools are in use anymore due to the lead pipes and probable infections from the bacterial life that has had great periods of time to develop.

Another big pool was said to have healing properties, and was visited by the sick for centuries. One part of the courtyard around it was left in the Roman style, and the other was heavily renovated. The domed area in the latter is the great pump room, which holds a spring where some still drink the water.

The city's art museum was closed, so after another look at the Abbey and its treasure house, I was off to Cardiff.

Winchester, home to King Arthur's Round Table

2011-12-27T09:45:00.001+09:00

You can tell Winchester is awesome from the fact that it's most recognizable landmark is the statue of Alfred the Great, King of the Anglo-Saxons, who is famed for driving off the vikings. Today I learned that Alfred is derived from the Old English Ælfrǣd, which means "elf counsel," which makes it a contender for the best English name ever.

The other notable monument in the city is the cathedral. It isn't particularly impressive on the outside, but the interior is magnificent.

There seems to be a theme of statues holding severed heads. St. George holding the dragon's head is clearly the most badass.

Nearby pedestrian High Street is full of medieval houses and monuments:

The Westgate museum is just what it sounds like: a museum fitted into the old West gate of the city. The gatehouse walls were once used as a debtors prison, and the graffiti of 1600s prisoners is etched into the stone. There were other interesting displays about the prison, including shackles.

Nearby is the old castle. Only the great hall remains, though some foundations and tunnels lay nearby.

The great hall holds the round table. Yes, that round table.

Well, for centuries that was the claim, anyway. In real life, it was made in the thirteenth century. It was painted during the reign of King Henry VIII, and King Arthur's face in the painted surface bears a striking resemblance to this king.

Stonehenge and Old Sarum

2011-12-27T09:39:00.000+09:00

Stonehenge is simultaneously breathtaking and disappointing. The construction of the stone circle is mind-boggling, yet the experience of seeing it feels more like standing in line than standing in awe. I wish I had walked all night through the rain to get there for the five a.m. druid ceremony where I could have actually walked among the stones. All trace of the druids was gone by the time I arrived, and instead I saw Stonehenge the way it really looks these days:

I'm hardly going to have better pictures of Stonehenge than ones you've seen before, but I did take some that illustrate how calculated and deceptive the usual shots are. One has to aim strategically to avoid showing the massive highway in the background:

There was a proposal to make the highway a tunnel under the fields to preserve the peace and serenity of the area. Sadly, this motion was deemed too expensive, so any magic of the place is dispelled by the sound and sight of cars whizzing past.

To give credit where credit is due, the guide on the bus ride there had interesting and informative commentary, and the audio guide that was part of the ticket was okay. The staff was very knowledgeable, and I had a long amiable chat with one of the English Heritage workers.

I wandered about some of the nearby related sites, but they don't really look like much despite their archaeological significance. The bus then took us to Old Sarum, which was the perfect counterpoint to the let down.

It is hard to do justice to the Iron Age hill fort that was occupied by everyone from the Romans to the Saxons to William the Conqueror and one of his cathedrals. This aerial photograph best captures the place's magnitude:

The steep double-layer or earthen walls and ditches would have been nearly unassailable.

There are the remains of a castle and a royal palace built by Henry I, which was used by Henry II to imprison his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine.

There are also the ruins of a cathedral's foundations. The cathedral was abandoned in favor of a new one built upon the banks of the Avon river. The town that sprung up around it was New Sarum, which eventually came to be known as Salisbury.

Like the archbishop, I also went from here to Salisbury. I actually went inside of the Cathedral and revisited St. Thomas's church to actually look at the doom painting. There was also a worthwhile museum with artifacts from both Stonehenge and Old Sarum. I had noticed that among the timber-frame buildings, most small towns in England had a small shop selling Warhammer figurines and hosting games. I was curious and had a staffer run me through a sample game. I'll stick with Dungeons and Dragons, which at its best is collaborative storytelling. War simulation is fairly interesting, but there doesn't seem to be much story to it, so I'll just watch a Peter Jackson film if I want to see armies of dwarves and orcs clash. Back at the hostel I cooked some pasta for myself and sat around frustrated at the internet not working. In the common room a woman asked if I would mind if she put on seven nations rugby, and was shocked when I told her -- in my American accent -- that I had played rugby in college.

Salisbury

2011-11-20T02:25:00.001+09:00

Buses to Stonehenge didn't run any earlier than normal despite the equinox, so I wandered the town until the first bus at ten. First, I walked through St. Thomas's Church, famed for its doom painting, depicting the day of judgement, which I somehow managed not to notice.

I then walked by the Salisbury Cathedral.

As usual, I loved the grotesques.

Okay, I didn't actually go inside the cathedral until after I got back from Stonehenge and Old Sarum, but I'm choosing thematic unity over temporal accuracy here.

In addition to the usual grandeur, the cathedral holds the oldest working timepiece in the world, a clock made in 1386:

I liked the emaciated figure on one of the tomb lids and the ornate carving on some benches:

I was also impressed by the modern (1980) stained glass window commemorating prisoners of conscious, which used a color scheme I find more aesthetically pleasing than the usual fare.

The cathedral is also famed for housing the best preserved of the four remaining copies of the Magna Carta. I was amused by the understated sign pointing out this most important of historical documents:

The Magna Carta is housed in the chapter house:

I loved the timber frame houses.

An impressive stonework that looks like it could cap an ornate tower is actually to mark the spot in market square where poultry was sold:

Manchester

2011-11-18T10:10:00.001+09:00

On my rush south I did take some time to do something other than look at big stone buildings and actually visited some urban areas. In Manchester I wandered my way the the National War Museum North, which is housed in a building shaped as a sphere shattered into three shards to represent the three theatres of battle: land, sea, and air. The temporary exhibit was of a war photographer's life's work, which was impressive and depressing, as one would expect a war museum to be. The main area was dedicated to the last 100 years of warfare and held detailed fascinating exhibits about everything from weaponry to propaganda to the effects of those back home. Every hour or so the whole area was turned into the projection screen for films about a particular war or aspect of a war. Three different films would play on three different walls, with an overarching narrative voiced over the images.

The rest of my first day in Manchester I did other exciting things like hang out in the astoundingly large library (housing twenty miles of shelves), doing my taxes, eating Chinese food, and doing laundry at the hostel.

In the morning I ate breakfast in reconstructed Roman ruins near the hostel that give a glimpse of the walled fort that once stood there. I spend the morning at the Manchester art gallery. I loved the French impressionist paintings that captured Manchester's fog and industry. My favorite part, though, was a group of hyper-realistic replicas of people, but with the scale off. Sculptor Ron Muech created surreal and powerful impressions with a nude wild man 18 feet tall, looking nervous and uncomfortable, or the 18 inch tall couple spooning. If not for the scale I would have thought these were casts of real people, or even, momentarily, that they were real people since they were accurate down to the hair follicles, cellulite dimpled thighs, postures, and expressions.

I had a late lunch at an Indian buffet, where I learned that now that I am older I do in fact have limits to how much I can eat. That limit is four heaping platefuls of rich delicious Indian food. From there I waddled over to spend more time in the magnificent library before taking some bloody expensive trains to Bristol and Salisbury. I considered trying to make my way to Stonehenge since the druidic ceremony among the stones would be early the next morning for the Spring Equinox. However, buses sure weren't running there at night, and it was pouring rain. Instead I managed to check into the youth hostel right before it closed for the night.

Lancaster

2011-11-09T08:19:00.000+09:00

Ambleside's Wednesday market was setting up as I waited for the bus and I looked through the books but ended up just heading straight on to Lancaster. The priory was nearly a thousand years old, but it was remodeled in the middle ages.

Immediately next to the priory stands the castle.

The fortified position is currently a prison, as it has been for a couple hundred years. For obvious reasons only part of the castle is open to tour groups. One section I particularly liked was the ornate trial room, where the coats of arms hang on the walls, showing all of the High Sheriffs of Lancashire over the last 800 plus years. Some of the more recent ones had fun creating their family arms that included soccer balls or were amusing puns on the names (which I'm forgetting. That's what I get for writing nearly two years after the event). Some of the puns are out of date, like Newton being represented by a new barrel (tun), or Bolton represented by an arrow (bolt). Another fun section was the former holding cells, which were certainly far from a fun place to spend one's time, even if they were a great deal less oppressive than medieval dungeons.

I spent some time wandering the streets, browsing the shops and stalls, and using the internet in the library. In the last of the light I meandered up to a hilltop park to overlook the city. The Ashton memorial was a rather impressive centerpiece for the park.

From there I was off to manchester, where I ate at the curry mile and checked into the hostel.

Castlerigg Stone Circle and Unofficial Couchsurfing

2011-11-08T08:06:00.000+09:00

Had there been a different focus to my trip I may have spent a considerable amount of time in Cumbria and the Lake District. This area is supposed to be contain of the most beautiful places and best hikes in Britain, but it was light on castles and cathedrals, so I mostly skipped over it. Also, it rained almost the whole time I was there. Thankfully, the weather was clear when I stopped by the main sight I intended to visit in the area: Castlerigg Stone Circle. I walked up hill out of the town of Keswick to the stone circle, which is between 3000 and 4000 years old.

What's that? You say I would have to have been standing atop the stones in order to take the next two pictures? No, that would be disrespectful. I definitely would never do that...

I only saw one other person during the time I stood in the circle. The clear air and mountain surroundings made it feel mystical.

As the sky started to darken, I headed out to the town of Ambleside. The town is supposed to be a great base for hiking, but I mostly went there to make some progress southward so that I didn't have to take the bus during precious daylight hours. It was raining when I arrived, so I immediately trudged out to the youth hostel. Unfortunately, it was under renovation and hence closed. I headed out to the other hostel in town, but found that this independent backpacking hostel was serious about the sign out front saying that they would not check anyone in after 8 pm. I arrived at 8:15 and no one would so much as answer the door. All other lodging in the town was quite expensive.

I treated myself to a nice dinner at Zeffirelli's Italian restaurant, figuring that if I wasn't able to have a nice place to sleep I should at least eat well. Over dinner a couple about my age was sitting next to me commented on my reading the Lonely Planet (which I was using to desperately figure out if there was somewhere I could go to sleep out of the rain fairly cheaply) and struck up a conversation about the book. They commented that LP India had been their bible when they traveled there, and wondered what the Britain version had to say about their hometown. I got the sense that they were travelers after my own heart, or at least fairly close. After working up the courage to do so, I told them the hostel situation and asked them if I could give them twenty quid to crash on their floor or couch. They said I could stay for free. When we went to their home on the floor above the family business, her parents commented that they had brought home a stray, which is pretty damned accurate. I hung out with them for a couple hours and enjoyed conversations about a wide range of topics before crashing on their couch.

Caerlaverock Castle

2011-11-07T02:14:00.000+09:00

In my rush to head south to Hadrian's Wall for the Illumination event, I had to skip over Caerlaverock Castle. Lonely Planet described it as one of the best castles in Britain, so I knew I had to head back into Scotland to remedy this situation. I was not disappointed.

The triangular, pink stoned fortress is surrounded by a moat and looks unassailable, though history says otherwise. Being on the volatile Scotland-England border, it was taken several times. It is testament to its strength, however, that a mere sixty men were able to hold off the entire English army for a lengthy siege.

I enjoyed the no longer functional stairs in the towers.

After gawking at the castle for a while, I headed around back towards the wetlands and to see the old castle. Mind you, the 'new' castle I had been looking at was built in the 1270s. The old castle was only fifty years older, and now consists of a few stones outlining the foundation of the square keep.

The wetlands were pleasant and quiet. I think I was the only person in the area.

I saw two toads during my brief walk between the castles, and nearly stepped on one before it spoiled its camouflage by moving.

In front of the castle were reconstructed siege engines. The video in the visitor's center showed the demonstrations of their power. The catapult was interesting

...but I love trebuchets, the ultimate castle breakers before gunpowder.

Once I was finally satisfied with gazing upon the castle, I jaunted onward, back into England.

Hexham and Carlisle

2011-11-06T17:09:00.002+09:00

After my first well-rested night in who knows how long, I was all energized to run around to lots more big stone buildings. I started with Hexham abbey.

Another old stone building in Hexham was the moot hall. This was a gate in the original city defenses, and then was used as a court house for a long stretch of time.

The result of the verdict at the moot hall could be imprisonment here at the Old Gaol. This is the first prison build for solely that purpose in England, erected in 1333.

Inside are figures and soundtracks displaying the conditions of the cells. These conditions vary greatly, from the horrid crowded rooms in the basement, where the gaolers would basically toss people down and forget about them, to the swank chambers where the wealthy inmates could order room service including a rather mind blowing amount of alcohol.

From Hexam I made my way back to Carlisle. The castle looked much the same in daylight, though now I could enter it.

The castle once held Mary Queen of Scots. It also survived a long siege where the Royalist defenders had to eat rats and dogs before finally surrendering to the Parliamentarians.

Besides a dungeon full of horror stories, the keep had some interesting displays about the history of changes of castle and about the Jacobite rebellion.

Nearby stood Carlisle Cathedral. I particularly liked the fragments of the nave that survived after the building was cannibalized to reinforce the city walls after attacks from Parliamentarians.

I spent the rest of my time in Carlisle browsing bookstores and various other shops. I then took the train up to Dumfries to get a fix of internet at the library before spending the night in a bed and breakfast above the river overlooking a pleasant footbridge. I had skipped one last castle in Scotland in order to make it on time to the Hadrian's Wall illumination, but damned if I wasn't going to get back there before rushing off on the next adventure.

Hadrian's Wall

2011-11-06T17:06:00.000+09:00

I happened to be in Britain with good timing. I was able to make it to the event Illuminating Hadrian's Wall, a celebration of the 1600th anniversary of the end of Roman rule in Britain. Large gas torches were set up every 250 meters, and these 500 torches would light up like signal fires, spreading from Wallsend, on the east coast near Newcastle, all the way to the west coast.

I started and ended my Hadrian's Wall adventure in Carlisle. This whole area suffered a dearth of couchsurf hosts and hostels, so I sought out a place to spend the night outdoors. I found a fairly secluded place at the base of the castle wall around back. Judging from the broken bottles I swept away with my foot, more traditional hobos had slept there before this travel hobo. However, like the night spent out in Reykjavik, 'slept' isn't really the right term for how I spent the night. I practiced my Taekwondo forms and exercised a lot, and there was some time lying down before the cold of the ground would seep into my very bones and I would need to get up and run around again. Of course, after doing sprints it is hard to calm down enough to sleep before the heat dissipates. I was quite happy to see the sun rise, and I definitely got an early start, taking the first bus to Haltwhistle. The bicycle rental place didn't seem to exist, at least not during that season, so I walked towards the Roman barrier and fort.

First, though, I had to admire this sign:

It was the season for lambs to be wandering about cutely.

Or sitting on their mother's back:

I stumbled upon Thirlwall Castle, or what little is left of it. Though I normally love castles, I don't approve of stealing from Roman ruins to build them.

Down the path was a Roman mile fort, or rather, the foundations of one. Perhaps this is a good time to discuss the history of the wall. Emperor Hadrian decided that instead of constant expansion, the Roman Empire would draw borders that were reasonable to hold. In Britain they built a massive wall stretching from coast to coast, which was more a show of strength than an actual deterrent since the wall could be scaled and even at the height of patrols, soldiers couldn't monitor every part of that absurd length all the time. Ever Roman mile, give or take a little to account for the terrain, a fortified barracks was built, and these mile forts made it possible for the Roman soldiers to live by the border they guarded.

I took Latin for four years in high school because I love Roman history. Hence my smile at first seeing this monument to the glory of Rome.

It stretches on for a while. I actually have a lot of pictures that look like this, in case you like pictures of stone walls or something.

I walked West until I reached Birdoswald Roman Fort. Volunteers were setting up for the night's festivities, so my tour of the foundations was brief.

Then I turned around and followed the wall back East. I stopped for my packed lunch at Thirlwall Castle. When I passed where I began I kept going.

Walking along the wall path also introduced me to a wonderful concept utilized in Britain: the right of way. I hear the phrase and think of who gets to go at an intersection, but in Britain the right of way is a beautiful human right: the right to have a path across the country. As long as the path is used at least once a year, no one has the right to stop a path with fence or wall. It can cut across private land, and sometimes goes over said barriers, but it isn't trespassing to walk here; it's a right. Sometimes you even walk through people's yards. I love it, and now want to walk from one extreme of Britain to the other.

The Romans were no fools, and used natural barriers to maximize the wall's effectiveness.

I found it surreal to see animals grazing among side ancient ruins.

I stopped by another ruin, Housesteads Fort, which had a small museum displaying some jewelry and small statues found on the sites.

In the evening I staked out a good spot among the crowd up on the bluffs to see the approach of lights. Then I realized that it was a while until the torches would even begin to be lit on the coast, much less until they got here. At this point the nagging feeling that I had been forgetting to do something that I'd had for days suddenly crystallized into the insight that I had intended to book a place at the hostel here for the night. I visited the hostel anyway just in case, but of course they had been booked solid long earlier. They did have an all-you-can-eat buffet, though, and sustenance is important when you intend to sleep out in the cold.

Having eaten my fill I headed back up the bluffs to find a good place to see the torches in both directions. There was a lot of waiting in painfully cold wind, but we finally say fires in the distance coming our way.

The torch beside me was lit and I watched the fire crop up along the wall on ridges I had walked along hours earlier.

Earlier in the day I had seen a helicopter that later in the evening made a film documenting the giant flammable version of the wave.

The resulting video is a bit self-congratulatory and cheesy, but pretty good nonetheless.

After the ceremony I had the oh so brilliant idea that I would sleep in one of the mile fort ruins. Of course, this was actually private property, and there was a small group of authority figures of some sort (probably volunteers) patrolling the area to keep everyone behaving and picking up after ourselves. I lay down inside the foundation walls and tried to rest, but was paranoid about being discovered some reason. I was terribly startled by some passersby who turned out to be star gazers. Once they passed I decided I was entirely too high strung being in that spot, so I picked up my pack and walked towards the morning's destination: Vindolanda Fort. I found a small outcropping of trees and hid myself among them for another cold night's 'sleep'. I got a bit more rest than at the castle the night before, but mostly out of exhaustion.

In the morning I wandered about the area until the fort and museum opened. This was an amazing archaeological find. The museum held remarkably well preserved scraps of writing on tablets, which ranged from shopping lists to love letters to a student's graded paper to a note that accompanied a care letter from mom and dad to orders for this military town. Also well preserved were some sandals and one of the famed crested helmets, complete with its original vibrant red-dyed horse hair mane. The best finds of were under water, keeping the artifacts from oxygen and decay. This site was much larger than the other forts and was off a bit from the wall. It was a garrison and a proper town instead of just an outpost.

All of the buildings were off of the ground for the sake of sewage control and heating. A lot of the remains are the stones that once held up the floor.

This communal lavatory had an impressive capacity.

From there I took a long walk along the wall. I eventually came to a shrine of a cult to Mithras that was adopted by some of the soldiers. This is the original shrine of the replica I saw in the Great North Museum in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.

After a long day of walking, I eventually reached Chesters Fort, which was a station for cavalry.

The bathhouse was fairly interesting, with the heating areas under floor visible like a cutout in an illustrated guide due to the ruined state of the fort.

The base of a bridge also remained.

I of course felt the need to view it from both sides, which took a fair amount of my energy reserves that I had left after two days of constant trekking without much in the way of sleep. All said, I think I walked about forty kilometers along the wall, including the time backtracking. The entire path is about 135 kilometers, so I suppose I could have given it a few more days and walked the whole thing, but as always I felt compelled to hurry onward. This night, though, it was all I could do to stumble into a town before dark. I of course found that the hostel where I had intended to sleep was closed for the season and balked at the idea of a third night in a row sleeping out, so I treated myself to a rather nice hotel (because it was the only one around at all). It included a nice dinner, and I had time to clean off the layers of filth before eating so I didn't feel like I was imposing by being in a dining room the way I often do when traveling. I still felt ridiculous for spending sixty-five pounds, but I treated it as an exercise in assuming that what I had bought was worth what I spent for it and became determined to get that much value out of it. I think the bath alone was worth just about anything after my walking. Also, a comfortable bed, warmth, internet and tons of included food slowly eroded away my buyer's remorse. By morning I was convinced it was worth it after ten hours of sleep and an all-you-can-eatbreakfast buffet, where I consumed four plates of ham ('bacon'), fried eggs, beans,sausages, hash browns, bananas, grapefruit, oranges, prunes, yogurt, and cheese (though I didn't eat the baked tomato to make it a proper Englishbreakfast).

Glasgow

2011-11-06T10:59:00.001+09:00

After checking into the local backpacker's hostel it was already dark, but I decided to go on Lonely Planet's suggested walking tour anyway. The undisputed highlight was the Gallery of Modern Art.

Outside the gallery, the statue of the Duke of Wellington is often hatted with an orange traffic cone, a thirty year long tradition that amuses the locals, if not the local authorities.

Much later on the walking tour I saw another statue with a similar hat. This one looked like a wizard in the dim light and with the pointed hat that augmented his long beard.

In the morning over breakfast I talked again with a young German couple I had met in Inverness (not be be confused with the middle-aged German couple who gave me a ride and who I also ran into twice in Scotland). Since there was now daylight, I checked out some of the buildings I had liked at night, such as this grand hall of the University of Glasgow, which was right by the hostel.

Inside the University grounds are kept the Hunterian Museum and art gallery, the oldest public museum in Scotland. The museum holds formerly private history and art collections, a well curated history ofMary Queen of Scots as told in coins, and my favorite part: a curiosities collection from a doctor/midwife/anatomistwho amassed things like conjoined animals and deformed human bones.

Visible across a park is the magnificent Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum.

Constructed for the 1888 International Exhibition, the grand building holds an assortement of treasures. My favorites were paintings by Dali, sculptures by Rodin, and a remarkable Egyptian tomb.

I walked back to the Modern Art Museum. Now that I was able to see the interior, I was most struck by the weird films being shown. Rhubarb Boy featured pterodactyls and creepy toys. Another film focused on a child while airplane radio trafficchatter played in the background. Modern art is always hit or miss for me, and the rest was mostly miss.

Further across the city was the Glasgow Cathedral and its Necropolis.

I noticed a memorial to Korean War Veterans. I also had seen some Korean restaurants. I bet I wouldn't have noticed at all except that I was so primed to see the Korean flag after spending a year there.

Right by the Cathedral was the "World Religion Museum." At this point, after walking nearly the entire length of Glasgow, I was too tired tocare about the exhibits, or possibly they would have too eclectic for my taste even under better circumstances. In any case, I did get to see Scotland's only Zen garden.

I had the hardest time trying to figure out why I wrote 'Alice in Wonderland' in my blog notes before realizing that I had seen the film in 3D. I think my inability to remember this fact tells you all you need to know about the movie.

Isle of Iona: Holy Burial Ground of Scottish Kings

2011-11-06T10:29:00.001+09:00

No trip to Scotland would be complete without a visit to one of the stony islands. I chose the Isle of Iona because guess what was on it? Yep, big stone buildings. And ruins. And Macbeth's grave. Okay, that last one wasn't as obvious.

I took a ferry to the Isle of Mull, where the hostel was closed but I found a quaint bed and breakfast. I had considered biking to the other side of the island, but then logistics, sense, and the hours of the bike rental place determined that I should take the bus. From there I took a smaller ferry to Iona.

Our brief tour's first stop was the ruined Nunnery.

Then we were off to the recently restored Iona Abbey. It is unknown where exactly forty eight early Scottish kings were interred, so I couldn't pay my respects to Macbeth, but they were somewhere in this graveyard.

The abbey is famed for its Celtic patterned crosses.

This may be the best picture I took the whole trip:

St. John's Cross is the first known cross to feature the circular support to the junction.

Other grave relics were kept here as well.

Griffin!

Soon it was time to return on our small passenger ferry.

I didn't really want to wait several hours for the bus back to the far end of the Isle of Mull, so I hitched a ride with others who had been on the Iona trip. We stopped by an area that was supposed to have standing stones, but after trekking through mud (an activity for which I had the footwear, but everyone else did not) we only found some cairns. But the view was wonderful in any case.

One woman took me the rest of the way to the ferry, and even onward. She was a very nice and generous person but a bit... odd. She is a former Mormon and has six children. We discussed her current beliefs. I am now completely convinced that the belief system involving UFO tampering being responsible for humanity is a religion. It absolutely fits the model of total faith in the absence of evidence. Anyway, she was kind enough to drop me off near Glasgow.

Ben Nevis: Highest Point in Britain

2011-11-06T10:01:00.001+09:00

When I planned this trip I hadn't intended to climb the tallest mountain in Great Britain, it just sort of happened. By which I mean, the hostel where I was planning on staying was several kilometers out of town and right at the mountain's base. Also, Ben Nevis is only 1343 meters. That's only two thirds the elevation of my parents' house, which is at the bottom of a mountain. How hard could it be?

There were cute fuzzy cows on the way to the backpacker's lodge.

I awoke well before dawn, along with several other hikers who were intending to climb the north face (for non-mountaineers: the hard side of pretty much any mountain in the northern hemisphere). I decided to take the easiest route possible since I was hiking by myself (PSA: don't ever do that) and didn't have real gear. Well, I had better gear then when Dan and I climbed the Mettelhorn, but that's not saying a whole lot. Hell, I was feeling downright compared to the Mettelhorn trek: I had boots, goretex pants and coat and fleece lining, the warmest socks ever devised... Not too bad. My boots hit the trail at 0630.

Once the sun rose, I was able to see the mountains around me in all their glory.

Then the path got steeper. The crusted over snow was slick and rather tricky to navigate. Pictured below is the path. Yes, really.

I only had a few moments of having to stop and hyperventilate after thinking I would slide off the mountain to my death before it flattened out. Huge cairns pointed the way to the summit, which is good because visibility was pretty minimal with all the blowing snow along the high ridge.

Which didn't stop this little bird from being there. I can't imagine what it thought it was going to eat in the perpetually snowy area.

I, on the other hand, was going to eat gummy bears because I reached the summit three hours after I began hiking. Thanks, Aunt Sonja and Uncle Albert for the gummy bears that I took with my across Korea, Iceland, and now had earned as my traditional mountain peak treat in Scotland.

On the way down I had been thinking that I was insane to hike by myself on a steep snow and ice covered mountain, where I nearly tumbled on some of the nastier patches of ice. Then I ran into a guy with skis strapped to the back of his pack. He planned to hit the summit by noon and then find a path down at high velocity. I felt totally sane in comparison.

Loch Ness and Urquhart Castle

2011-11-06T09:38:00.001+09:00

There was no sign of Nessie as I looked out the bus window along the road that hugged Loch Ness. I started walking from the nearest bus stop to Urquhart castle. Along the way I saw a freshly dead eagle.

Urquhart's visitor's center had one of the best information centers I've seen about castle life, including this chart of the castle hierarchy.

The castle itself stood sentinel above the long thin lake.

A replica of a catapult threats from the front.

The gate was not destroyed by medieval siege engines, however, but rather with explosives. In 1692 it was blown up so that it could not be used by the Jocobites (those who supported the Stuarts over Mary II and William of Orange).

I was walking back to the bus when a car stopped and I was offered a ride by the same German couple who I had spoken with outside of Dunnottar Castle. I gladly accepted. We enjoyed seeing the locks where Loch Ness meets Loch Lochy and small boats can pass by being raised or lowered to meet the level of the other body of water. These two lakes and the bays to either side of them split Scotland open, because like the rents in the earth in Iceland they are on a rift pulling a country apart. Discovering this fact made me really want to kayak from Cromarty Firth to Loch Linnhe, right through Scotland, which one can do without really leaving the water. Loch Lochy, despite the ridiculous name, was beautifully reflective.

Our paths split at Fort William, where I took a bed at the hostel, which happened to be situated at the base of Ben Nevis, the tallest peak in the United Kingdom.

Elgin Cathedral

2011-11-06T09:11:00.000+09:00

While Elgin may be more famed for the stones that their Earl stole from Greece, the ruins of the cathedral are still quite impressive. The intact tower gives a lovely perspective on the octagonal chapter house and the rest of the ruin.

The chapter house had beautiful ceilings and an amusing poem on a memorial:

Also, Scotland knows danger when it sees it. Warning:

Next stop: Loch Ness.

Actually, first was the town to the Loch's Northeast: Inverness. On the train from Elgin, I heard one of the train's ticket punchers singing the Imperial March from Star Wars with a distinct Scottish accent. Once in Inverness, I checked into the hostel and had a tasty dinner at the Mustard Seed, a restaurant inside a converted church. I love reclaimed spaces, ones where the architecture has been altered to accommodate a new use for the space. In this case, the church's high roof allowed a balcony inside the restaurant area but also left a great open space above the center of the restaurant.

I of course walked by Inverness' castle, but it was constructed in the mid 1800s and I didn't find it too impressive, which is why it is not pictured here. I went to sleep early, ready to face monsters in the morn.

Dunnottar Castle

2011-11-06T09:03:00.003+09:00

I had hoped to see Dunnottar Castle the night I arrived in Stonehaven, but the sun was setting by the time I got there, so I simply contacted my couch surf host instead. She showed me the not very intuitive path towards the castle and pointed out areas to watch for landslides, so when I struck out early the next morning I easily found it before it opened.

The narrow isthmus and high cliffs make this spot ideally defensible.

As I stood by the door underneath a comparatively new section that could accommodate dozens of cannons, a nice German couple joined me on the stairs. They were also on a castle tour, and were actually sleeping in castles almost every night. There are definite advantages to traveling with a larger budget.

The castle was besieged for eight months, protecting the Scottish crown jewels from a Cromwellian army. The castle only surrendered after the jewels had been smuggled away by a vicar's wife. This well would definitely help surviving a siege:

This window looked like a painting every time I looked at it.

All in all a satisfying castle indeed. But one ruin in a day is never enough! Onward to Elgin Cathedral!

Arbroath Abbey

2011-11-06T08:53:00.002+09:00

Arbroath Abbey is famed for being the place where Robert the Bruce signed a declaration of Scottish independence. The abbey is a ruin now, but the visitor's center gives a good history of the campaign for independence and the pink stones are still quite impressive.

Here lies King William the Lion.

This tower kept looking like a planted fish to me, with a giant eye and gaping mouth.

I loved the ceiling of the basement in the relatively intact Abbot's house.

It was a busy day. I journeyed onward to Stonehaven.

St. Andrews

2011-11-06T08:42:00.003+09:00

Leaving the abbeys, I watched an apocalyptic sunset on my way towards St. Andrews. My couchsurf host met me at the bus station, and we had a pleasant chat. He was actually English, studying in Scotland.

The next morning I killed time waiting for a restaurant to open by walking along the Old Course, the oldest golf course in the world, where the game has been played since at least 1552. After a breakfast buffet overlooking the links and the ocean, I headed over to the ruin of St. Andrews Cathedral.

The cathedral museum has interesting tombstones, Celtic crosses, and odd iconography.

Next to the cathedral there once stood the Church of St. Rule, but now only the bell tower remains.

There is quite a view from the tower's heights.

Just down the coast is the ruined castle.

The castle suffered a long siege, during which the besiegers dug a series of tunnels to try to get behind the walls. The defenders dug a counter tunnel that intercepted the enemy one and killed the miners. The tunnels are some of the best preserved bits of siege engineering anywhere.

St. Andrews is also Scotland's oldest university town. My couchsurf host attended university, and I enjoyed some of the architecture of the establishment, especially the Department of Logic and Metaphysics.

I had an early start to the day, so I was able to quickly head onward to Arbroath Abbey.

Stirling and Dunblane

2011-11-04T16:51:00.000+09:00

William Wallace is remembered well in Stirling, from the great Gothic monument (which is yet another instance of a building that compelled me to take far too many pictures, as you'll soon see) to the roofs of buildings. This statue above a shop was one of the few things I noticed as I arrived in town and sought out internet access and a place to sleep (which seem to by my basic necessities).

From my hostel window I could see this neighboring building. If you look closely at the pinkish stone to the sides of the balcony then you'll see that it reads: "Honor Principle. Do Yer Duty."

In my usual hobo-traveler fashion, I started the day with the dawn and saw what I could of Stirling before anything opened. On my traipse around The Back Walk along the wall below the castle, I saw fallen log art:

... and a stone that was used as a block for beheadings in the 1400s, including the execution of a Duke and his heirs.

I ate some lovely meat pies while looking at the Stirling bridge that lies in the location of the famed Battle of Stirling Bridge, where William Wallace lead the Scots to a victory against a force about five times their number by allowing just enough of the English army to cross the bridge that the Scots could defeat them and then defending the bridge to prevent any English reinforcements.

Though it was Robert the Bruce who finished the job of winning independence at the Battle of Bannockburn a couple miles to the South, it is Wallace who is best remembered and commemorated with the aforementioned Gothic monument.

In addition to the spire that looks like it came out of a horror movie castle, I also liked the monument's rope motif carved across it.

Wallace's statue has a nice view.

On the way back I stopped by Mar's Wark, the remains of a Renaissance mansion.

Just behind the cannon-shattered ruin sits the Church of the Holy Rude, where James IV was crowned.

The center of Stirling is of course the castle. The key to Scotland, Stirling Castle has been razed and rebuilt numerous times. The current buildings were mostly erected by the Stuart monarchs. A recently restored King's Hall gives a good idea of how the place would have looked when James V held a banquet (though I bet it was dirtier).

At a different time of year the plants might outshine the land sculpting of the gardens:

I love castle grotesques. They have such character, and often more so after some weathering.

The cannons could defend the river crossing with pinpoint accuracy, according to the tour.

A short bus ride from Stirling lies Dunblane, mostly notable for its cathedral.

Figures etched in new stained glass look like the portraits you would see on money. I kind of like it.

Scottish Border Abbeys

2011-11-04T15:57:00.001+09:00

From Edinburgh I took a long frustrating series of buses to see Rosslyn Chapel, which features in the Da Vinci Code due to it having truly bizarre architecture and inscrutable iconography. Between the major restoration underway and the minimal zoom on my camera I decided to follow the instructions to forbear from taking pictures, but you should check it out. Among the oddities are 213 ornate little stone cubes that jut from the pillars and rafters, carvings of men who seem to be part tree, and other carvings that are intricate yet vague enough for people to spin all kinds of crazy theories about their origins and meaning.

Another few buses finally got me to Melrose, where I peeked at the ruined abbey as the sun set.

The hostel in Melrose was closed for the season, leading me to head to Jedburgh to find a bed and breakfast, so unfortunately I didn't get back to see Melrose's ruins from inside the gates or during daylight.

Come daylight I did visit Jedburgh's nearly nine hundred year old abbey ruin. This site had a great visitor's center, which outlined the history in easily digestible chunks and detailed the schedules, diets, and other aspects of the lives of the monks.

Some sort or restoration work kicked up a fine smoke, which looked ghostly from the right angle.

Have I ever told you that in my high school yearbook's superlatives page I was chosen as most likely to join a monastery? People in high school didn't know me at all. That was my most anti-religious stage of my life. Now I'm much more moderate as an atheist who is moderately tolerant of religions who are themselves moderate. In high school I was militantly opposed to religion or spirituality in any form. I will admit, however, that I do make a pretty good monk in pictures.

Only the west end remains of Kelso's abbey, which is now surrounded by the town.

I approved of the octagonal old parish church that was within sight of the abbey towers.

I also liked a random church I passed on the way to Floors Castle. The multi-peaked spires are a look I'd incorporate if building a fantasy castle.

Floors Castle isn't a castle at all, but is really a mansion. It is only open when not used as a residence, and I decided a glimpse was enough. On the bus from there I talked to some fellow Americans (who were remarkably easy to notice, given that we were in an English speaking country. I expect to instantly recognize the Americans in Korea, but I guess we aren't much more subtle in the U.K.), one of whom had family connected in some way with the 'castle' and so had sneaked onto the grounds and spend the night there.

My fourth abbey ruin of the day was the least accessible. The bus left me in the village of Newton St. Boswells, and I had a long walk along roads and paths to get to Dryburgh Abbey. Along the way, I came across this statue of William Wallace looking out over the valley.

I had to quickly move on to catch the last half hour of the abbey's visiting hours. I started to panic and even tried to flag down cars to speed up the last mile or so when I was worried that after the long walk the land would be closed. There were hardly any cars and I looked too sketchy to pick up a ride, but I was able to make it just barely in time. I was only admitted because I had the Scottish Heritage Pass and so didn't have to be processed. It was totally worth it.

Sir Walter Scott was buried in a pink hued section of the ruin.

I had the freestanding spiral staircases and other ruined outposts mostly to myself.

On my long -- but no longer worrisome -- walk back to the town with bus access, I saw numerous game birds (either partridges or pheasants, I'm not sure) pecking their way through the fields.

Edinburgh is for Philosophers

2011-11-02T11:24:00.001+09:00

Edinburgh quickly became one of my favorite cities I've visited in the world. The first thing to love is how all the best buildings in the city are lit at night. I had a great view of Edinburgh castle on the way to the eponymous hostel, where I slept in the 'virgin' room, with beds named 'records' 'airlines' 'immaculate conception' 'Madonna' etc. Other room names on my floor included Scottish slang, Scottish songs, and underwear.

I started the next day's tour with a look at Greyfriars Kirkyard before anything else opened. There is a marker for those who were executed for trying to keep the Scottish Church independent and resisted Charles I's attempt to have Scotland join the CoE. Fun fact: when the queen is in England she is the head of and a member of the Church of England, but when in Scotland she is the head of and a member of the Church of Scotland. The marker in the Kirkyard is to commemorate the 1200 Covenanters (people who signed the 1638 National Covenant for Scottish Church independence) who were imprisoned in a corner of the graveyard under terrible conditions.

Another notable grave is that of William Smellie, the editor of the first edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica and source of jokes about how the yard contains a smelly grave.

I also noticed the presence of a McGonagall. I don't know how prominent the name is in Scotland, but I do know that J.K. Rowling wrote a great deal of the first Harry Potter book from a (rather pleasant) cafe that overlooks the cemetery. (When I ate a Scottish breakfast in the cafe they were playing Phillip Glass music).

Visible from the grounds, George Heriot's School was an admitted influence for Hogwarts.

Many other landmarks can be seen from the cemetery green, including the Edinburgh Hub

and Edinburgh castle

I continued my morning walk around old town Edinburgh for closer looks at these landmarks.

The Hub is a former church that is now the information center for Edinburgh festivals, especially the Edinburgh International Festival, which is actually an assortment of festivals across the summer.

I loved the views from the rocky outcropping of the highly defensible old town, and its narrow alleys.

I was excited to find a statue of David Hume, one of the clearest writing philosophers I've ever read who had many insight with which I agree, at least in part. When asked about my favorite philosopher, I usually respond that Hume is my favorite but that I think Wittgenstein is closest to right.

Behind Hume stands St. Giles Cathedral.

An Adam Smith statue is nearby, but my interest in economics is so far below that of philosophy that I took little notice (and didn't feel the need to photograph that statue in varying light levels whenever I passed it, the way I did - as you'll soon see- with Hume's).

One of my favorite pieces of architecture in the city - and this is saying something - was the Gothic monument to Sir Walter Scott. I mostly know Scott as the author of the historical novel Waverley, not because I've read any of it or even know what it's about, but because a famous debate in the philosophy of language involves him as an example of how a unique description might not be identical to a name. When he was denying that he was the author of Waverley it seems that he was denying an act rather than a name. Umm... anyway, enough philosophy geeking out. Look at the pretty:

(if you don't care for this angle, fear not! I took about a million more pictures of it...)

From the old town I walked down the Royal Mile, the (Scots) mile long road from the castle to Holyrood Abby. I got my first view of Calton Hill, but we'll get to that later.

I was on my way to Arthur's seat, the other giant bluff of hard volcanic rock that remains in the area after the rest of the land around it eroded, and hence would have been the second best place to put a castle if the old Scots had felt the need for two.

The view from the 'seat' (named for an old pronunciation of archer, not the king)

is unsurprisingly rather magnificent.

There's another cool Hogwarts-looking school nestled in the neighborhood below.

Once I wandered up one side and down another of the bluffs, it was time to explore the briefly mentioned Calton Hill that had captured my interest. On the way I fell in love with little architectural lovelies that were scattered about the area.

The hill is covered with monuments. Dugald Stewart was apparently another Scottish philosopher deemed worthy of a being remembered by a large stone memorial, despite the fact that I'd never heard of him.

I was amused to discover that the famously corpulent Hume was in part responsible for the existence of the walking paths in the park:

The views weren't bad from here either. Here's to cities with hill overlooks.

The National Monument is often seen as a national symbol of shame, long nicknamed Scotland's Disgrace. It was intended to be a full replica of Athens' Parthenon, but funding ran out. There's also an observatory.

Just below the hill is St. Andrew's house, the headquarters of Scottish government. It has awesome figures representing different branches of workers on its facade, from farmers to shipwrights, etc, but my camera's zoom failed to live up to the task of capturing them.

Also on the hill is the Calton New Burial Ground, where David Hume was interred.

Next to Lincoln, it seems. Actually, it is a monument remembering Scottish Americans lost in the U.S. Civil War.

Living inside a tomb? Hobocore!

Look! Now I'm closer to the Scott Monument!

I walked up a famed shopping district (not that I care at all about shopping) to a restaurant and back in time to catch Charlotte's Square at sunset.

The sunset lasted until I reached St. Cuthbert's Church.

My third cemetery of the day also had a nice view of Edinburgh castle. (It's kind of hard not to, really. The castle is on a giant bluff that is the most defensible place on main route between England and Scotland.)

The city is pretty at night too.

For the next few nights I stayed in an awesome international student house that was home to two Estonians, two Danes, oneLuxembourger, and someone from a combination of Ukraine and Finland. They were all great and truly made me feel at home. At some point while staying with them I Skyped with a friend back in Portland and managed to convince her that I was still in Korea, laying groundwork for my surprise appearance for Renn Fayre in April.

Given my purported goal of this whole trip, I'm sure none of you are surprised that in the morning I aimed myself towards the castle. On the way I walked by some of my favorite spots now that it was sunny.

Believe it or not, I've cut a bunch of pictures of the Scot monument. Look, it's really awesome, okay?

The castle was built in many stages. The outer walls were late additions meant to absorb cannon balls and hold cannons for returning fire.

The castle houses the royal military museum, as well as the Scottish Crown Jewels, and the famed Stone of Destiny (more on the latter later).

Some of the cannons were big, and had ranges which I feel I can't be remembering correctly because it just seems outlandish.

On the castle grounds lies St. Margaret's Chapel, the oldest building in Edinburgh.

A cannon is fired every day at one o'clock.

For obscure unrelated reasons, a neighboring building has a cannonball embedded in its stone.

Look! More pictures of stuff I've photographed before... but now with sunlight! And a different angle...

One castle is never enough, of course, so I took a bus to Craigmillar Castle. (I know, I know, not my usual travel style for something a mere two and a half miles away, but I didn't exactly know how to get there and it might have closed before I got there if I walked. I walked back. Have faith, readers.) This largely intact ruin was a refuge to Mary Queen of Scotts and she hatched the plot to murder her husband while there.

On my walk back I got a better look at that awesome school I'd seen from Arthur's Seat.

The next day I started at the Scottish National Museum, which held seven floors of exhibits. My favorites were blocky statues that were designed to displays ancient artifacts in glass cases that were the part of the statues where the object would be worn. The bracelets were in cases embedded in wrists, etc. I also enjoyed Pict stone art, a Scottish guillotine, the stuffed remains of Dolly the sheep, and Robert the Bruce's drinking cup. Also, there was a display of extinct megafauna of the region, including Irish elk and aurochs.

My next stop was Holyrood, a former Abbey and then palace. It is still the official residence of the royal family when they are in Scotland. There was an interesting display about the murder of Mary Queen of Scots' secretary, Rizzio, including a plaque that marks the spot he bled to death.

Opulence doesn't capture my imagination as much as defensive structures, so I was only mildly interested in the tapestries, silver, paintings, fine furniture, etc.

A portion of the old abbey still remains, with the palace grafted onto its side.

(Have I mentioned I like the bridge over the train station?)

After a bit of a walk away through pleasant neighborhoods and along a stream with the intense name of the Water of Leith, I arrived at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art. Favorites included incredibly honest and candid sketches of an artist's lovers, statues ofcyborg-like people such as three story Vulcan or Master of theUniverse (pictured below), and the cluttered studio workshop of a recently deceased artist who left the space to museum.

The grounds were sculptures in and of themselves.

I'm pretty sure this is the night I played Mapominoes with my hosts. The game is like the game of dominoes (the one where you match the pips, not the one where you knock them down), but you have to match countries to their adjacent neighbors. My hosts' knowledge of European geography exceeded my own, which isn't too much of a surprise since they were all from continental Europe. After games we went to the international student lounge for a movie.

My final day in Edinburgh began with a run up the Crags of Arthur's Seat. I don't know what possessed me to think I could keep pace with a bunch of Scandinavian guys who had been doing this jog several times a week all year, but I didn't disgrace myself. They did have to wait for me at the top, though.

The rest of the day was filled with museums and stories. The Royal Scottish Academy had modern art including a woman outline made of keys standingas if on the prow of a ship, a table horse with piano keys on its back that had a handle visitors could pull handle and make the keys ripple, a bronze statue of a penguin making its nest in an inflated circular tube, and letters to companies to thankfor simple things like doing a good job collecting rubbish or makinga good toothpaste, along with the responses from the companies: some trying to marketmore goods, some genuinely thankful and appreciative, and one thatassumed that any communication about their product must be a complaint and so gave a form letter response. The adjacent National gallery held more classic works from the likes of Rembrandt and Rubens. It also contained a painting of man saving the Scottish king from mad stag and a print of Jesusmade from a single spiraling line that varied in width.

I took a walking tour about Edinburgh stories. My favorite was the story of Burke and Hare, a pair of men who would collect recent corpses for an anatomy lecturer who needed a supply of cadavers for dissection. These two realized that it was easier to kill people for really fresh bodies rather than do all the work of keeping track of the recent dead and digging them back up. This story was told in a pub in the square where Burke was hanged. The guide also told of how the Scots under Robert the Bruce took Edinburgh castle back from the English army. Thirty men scaled the cliffs and walls under cover of darkness and let the English think the castle had been overrun, and hence that they should flee. The final tale of the tour was of the Stone of Scone, also popularly known as the Stone of Destiny. This rectangular block of sandstone was traditionally used for Scottish coronations. The stone was captured by English monarch Edward I in 1296. Edward had the stone built into a throne that most subsequent English monarchs have used during their coronations at Westminster Abbey. The Scots laugh at the chair since the Stone belongs under the king's feet, not his ass, but they don't laugh about much else with the story. It was a constant reminder of the indignity of foreign rule. The stone remained in English possession until 1950, when four Scottish students broke into Westminster Abbey on Christmas and stole the stone. The Stone was brought back to England, though it may have been a replica. Finally, in 1996 the Stone was officially moved to Scotland, to remain there except at coronations. The tour guide was much more humorous a tale spinner than I am, and I took his recommendation to go on a ghost tour with a guide he admired that night.

But first, I had other frightening tales to attend to that didn't even require waiting for the end of daylight since it is always dark underground. The wealthiest people in the city lived on the hilltops and didn't want to wade through the human filth below them to visit the other nice parts of town, so built bridges between the hills. Now these structures just look like roads since buildings went up around them. The cavities below the arches still remain, however, and were used for storage or living spaces, hidden away behind buildings. Further, Edinburgh was one of the first cities to have tall buildings and sections of the lower levels that never saw daylight. Early on, Edinburgh consisted of the old town, and there was a toll to pass through the gates, so most people never did, being too poor to leave or afford their way back in if they did. Thus the city grew upward to accommodate the masses, with townhouses fifteen stories tall. These structures eventually became unstable and were replaced, but often the lower levels remained sturdy and so were used as foundations. Mary King's Close is an excavated tenement building underneath more recent structures. There are tours of the space with some ghastly effects, but the most interesting thing to me was to get a glimpse of the preserved living spaces and to hear the detailed knowledge accumulated about the people who lived there in the 1500s and 1600s.

Finally, that night was the ghost tour. Beyond the stories I was enraptured with a Swedish woman my age who was as interesting as she was gorgeous, and the two of us talked as much as we could whenever the guide wasn't regaling us with horror. The tour began with the witch confessions, and the murder of supposed witches. A humorous interlude mentioned a building owned by a name that strikes terror into the hearts of many: Microsoft. Microsoft purchased a building in the old town for their regional headquarters. The company intended to tear down the structure and build a new one since all Microsoft regional headquarters are exactly the same, but they found out that the building was protected for historical reasons. Then it came to light that only the outside of the building was protected, so Microsoft gutted the whole thing and built their standard headquarters inside it, leaving a few feet of empty space between their building and the original's empty shell. It looks surreal. We were then introduced to the idea of baby farming. In the days before adoption agencies and when having a child out of wedlock was highly stigmatized, baby farmers would find homes for unwanted children for a fee. Some found it more economical to simply kill the children instead, collecting the fees from mothers who were hoping for their children to end up in loving homes. We also stopped by Hume's grave. Hume had anonymously published essays outlining why he was atheist. Atheism was illegal at the time. On his deathbed, he revealed to his friends that he had authored the tracts. His friends drew the only reasonable conclusion: Hume must have sold his soul to the devil. Why else would a man claim not to believe in god? They further believed that the devil would come to collect in the week after Hume's death, so they stood watch outside their friend's grave during this period to keep Hume's soul safe. The final story was told below the old stone home that was the home of a man who killed his housemate. They'd had an argument about the man's girlfriend and the man struck out in a rage, and further drank the housemate's blood. When questioned, he not only admitted to the deed but further claimed that he was a vampire. The house contained occult books. He claimed his girlfriend was a vampire too. Her name was Akasha. If the name sounds familiar it's probably because of the Anne Rice books that were the root of the man's lunacy. See, this murder occurred in 2004. The argument ensued because the housemate claimed that the man's girlfriend did not exist, that she was an imaginary character. Edinburgh's strange stories continue to the present.

Whew! It's over! Maybe if I'd split this post up I wouldn't have been so intimidated by it that I avoided my blog for months. Too late now. So it goes.

Northumberland Castles

2011-07-04T23:34:00.000+09:00

I was greeted in Alnwick by Northumberland's nearly perpetual rain, as well as a much warmer greeting from one of my couchsurf hosts. She took me to her home, where she made a lovely dinner for me, her husband, and another couchsurfer who was from the area but had long been away and felt like meeting up with other couchsurfers while visiting family. The next day he and a local surfer friend drove me around to various castles in the area and regaled me with tales of his adventures leading tours that drove across the length of Africa and of his current job taking people out to see polar bears in Northern Canada. Being this close to Scotland, Northumberland has more castles than any other county of England. Our first stop was Dunstanburgh Castle, which I certainly never would have found with just a guidebook. We strolled in sheep fields alongside mudholes that during a drier season might be called tractor paths until we reached the foamy shores below the towering ruin.

The stone has been eroded in odd patters that seem consistent within each block of stone but vary from block to block. The castle is the largest in Northumberland, and the massive gatehouse was equally proportioned. It once reached 80 feet high, though now only the reinforced stairways reach precariously upward past the now-squat D-shaped towers, which are themselves still large enough to be impressive.

Next was Bamburgh Castle, which has been restored to a much greater degree and is still used as a residences, as well as for weddings and retreats. The enormous rock walls are an onion of building projects, from the Norman keep core out towards its much later layers. We walked around the great walls and had marvelous views from the beach.

After dropping off our surfer companion, we stopped for some fish and chips and watched waves break along the wall meant to contain them and keep the port calm.

We had a view of the closed Alnwick castle as we returned to our starting point. The castle is famed for its presence in numerous films, including Elizabeth and all of the Harry Potter films.

Newcastle-upon-Tyne and Segedunum

2011-07-04T22:59:00.000+09:00

I entered Newcaste-upon-Tyne through its castle grounds due to the train station swallowing up the area of the ruin. The only true remains are the castle keep, built in the 1170's. The stone replaced the wooden motte and bailey castle build in 1080 just after the Norman conquest, and was hence dubbed the 'new' castle (compared to the Roman fort first used to defend the site). Coming from a country with hardly any history at all, it is hard to fathom a place where things a millennium old can have 'new' affixed to their names unironically.

The keep is dwarfed by the mass of rail lines above and around it, and of course the station large enough to handle them all. Despite the name of the city and my purported purpose in Britain, I really didn't stop here for the castle. I was much more interested in the art and Roman ruins. My first stop was the Great North Museum. It features an enormous range of scientific and historical material, from dinosaur bones and replicas to an extensive taxidermied taxonomy exhibit to a planetarium. I was mostly focused on the interactive section concerning Hadrian's Wall, which had dozens of stones inscribed with death notices, prayers, tributes, and cult rituals, which the museum brought to life by having voice actors explain why the Roman soldiers or merchants wanted to make such permanent markers. The stones are arranged along a long narrow room which has a model of Hadrian's wall in the middle that shows what it would have originally looked like and shows where the stones were found. After that, I wandered about the city for a while gawking at the building. Newcastle-upon-Tyne's art begins with its architecture, especially its churches and bridges.

The area across the Tyne is actually the town of Gateshead, and the Sage Gateshead concert hall is the most striking building along the waterfront (though the bridges themselves compete to be more eye-drawing).

The pedestrian Millennium Bridge looks nice at night but is most impressive when open. Instead of simply opening in half or even pivoting like other bridges, its massive suspension counterweight allows the entire monstrosity to rotate up out of the way in a manner widely compared to an eyelid opening. Over a meal where I set out to bankrupt an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, my couchsurf host advised me that the best view of the Millennium 'Blinking' Bridge's wink was from the Baltic Art Gallery, so I timed my next day's itinerary to make sure I saw it from the viewing balcony.

The Baltic itself is a massive brick former grain store converted into an art museum. I liked some of the exhibits, though contemporary art has never been my thing. I would have loved to see the building at its reopening, however, when the full area had been gutted, leaving a colossal shell of bricks filled with a wild sprawling modern sculpture that snaked along the walls and over balconies. The pictures looked fantastic, and the sheer presence of a sculpture on such a scale would have been something to behold.

I moved on to other art museums, such as the unfortunately closed Laing Art Gallery. I still enjoyed the 'Blue Carpet' outside, where the walkways were covered to look like a carpet covered them, complete with edges curling up where they meet the building, slits cut open to allow traffic pylons to poke through, and strips cut out and bent over to form benches. The blue has long since faded to gray, but the effect remains.

From there I went to another converted building, the Biscuit Factory. Honestly, the way the architecture reclaimed what was once surely a dull space by means of hanging walkways and flowing staircases interested me far more than the exhibits that consisted of interior design pieces as mush as paintings. I moved on to meet up with a different couchsurf host, whose roommate was cooking a Korean meal quite familiar to me. She was ethnically Korean but from Japan, and they both were part of the University's Japanese society. I tagged along to the society meeting since at the time I thought I would be teaching English in Japan next.

The next day I went out to Segedunum, the Easternmost major Roman fort on Hadrian's wall. There wasn't much left, but they had good exhibits of what was found there presented in reconstructions of some of the more important buildings. The overlook of the site mostly looked upon a muddy mess, but I still enjoyed wandering through it to get a feel for the layout of the Roman fort.

Across the street was a bit of Hadrian's Wall, along with a reconstruction of a few yards of what it would have looked like to the Picts of the less-welcoming side of it.

The rail station for Segedunum has bilingual signs in English and Latin. It was amusing, but reminded me that my own Latin skills have become so rusty that they are more a corroded latticework of bits strung together than any recognizable structure.

I backtracked to Newcastle's main station in order to continue North past the end of the (Roman) world into the wilds of Northumberland.

Durham Castle and Cathedral

2011-06-28T21:50:00.000+09:00

Durham castle and cathedral are perched high above a bend in the Wear river that turns this bluff into a peninsula. The castle and cathedral are both well fortified due to the Scots and Northumberland tribes who opposed the Norman conquest.

The doorknocker had a great history in addition to being an awesome lion's head.

The basement held an exhibit entitled The Treasures of St. Cuthbert. The cathedral was built to enshrine St. Cuthbert, and his coffin, cross and tomb are inside. A series of invasions by Danes lead monks to flee across Northern England with St. Cuthbert's body several times, and eventually it ended up in this highly defensible location. The collection had numerous other artifacts of interest, from illuminated books to signet rings.

Durham castle was once part of the church as well, serving as the Bishop's residence. It was later converted into Durham's college. The castle keep is actually a dormitory. I can't tell you how jealous I am, though I am glad to have gone without tourists gawking down the hallways. On the tour of the castle I learned of its many alterations by the bishops who ruled here. Highlights of the tour were the original Norman chapel in the basement and a somewhat tilted massive wooden Black Staircase that was originally only supported along the wall, though it is now reinforced by pillars.

Whitby

2011-06-27T22:44:00.000+09:00

Whitby is the setting for much of the novel Dracula, so it was fitting that the day was suitably overcast and dreary. I made my way toward Whitby Abbey, enjoying the view of the ruin atop its headland from across the bay. The whalebone arch frame for the picturesque ruin is a testament to the town's past as a whaling port.

Whitby was once home to Captain cook, and a monument dedicated to him stands beside the whale bone arch. The statue often is bedecked in a (live) seagull hat.

I witnessed people surfing in the frigid February waters, proof that I'm not the only crazy one out there.

The streets below the abbey are filled with shops selling gothic clothing due to Bram Stoker's influence, and the fare ranges from painfully touristy and/or angst-ridden to rather artful. 199 steps up stands St. Mary's church and its hauntingly and beautifully weathered tombstones.

(obligatory Eurasian Hobo cemetery shot)

The headstones have longs since been rendered unreadable by years of corrosion by the wet salty wind, and now look as though they have wasted away as much as those below them.

Between the lilting tombstones and the crumbling pile it is no wonder Stoker chose his English holiday destination as the point at which Dracula's ship crashes and bewilders the locals with its lack of crew and the mysterious captain's log.

After wandering in the graveyard and peering over the wall at the closed abbey, I met up with my couchsurf host, who took me on a great walking tour of the town and the surrounding headlands. We stayed up late discussing life, philosophy, travel, etc, and watching Circ de Soleil's Alegria, which blew me away. I need to see them live.

In the morning I headed out, but on my way to the bus station noticed that Whitby was once home to the man who invented the crow's nest. I had assumed that it was an invention old enough that we didn't know its inventor, or that no single person was credited with it. Silly me.

Scarborough

2011-06-26T11:32:00.002+09:00

For years I had no idea that Scarborough was a real place. I thought it was just imagined for Scarborough Fair. Not only is it real, it has a castle, and thus I stopped by, even though I knew it would be closed. Scarborough is primarily a beach town, so unlike most castles, this one was open on the weekends and closed during the week. The ruin sits atop a quite defensible rock outcropping on a peninsula.

On the walk through the homes up to the castle, I passes the burial place of Anne Brontë in St. Mary's Church, which was built in 1180 CE. I have never read any of Anne Brontë's work, so I didn't feel the disdain that I would have passing by a place significant to her sisters. In high school a friend and I speculated that perhaps Anne, the least read of the three sisters, was actually a good writer, and that by some terrible mistake people ended up reading the detritus like Jane Eyre and (shudder) Wuthering Heights. But I digress.

The castle was entered by a single narrow stone bridge.

Even though I wasn't able to see the Roman signal tower and look over the steep cliffs down upon the sea, I had a good view in the other direction of the beach town and its promenade.

Simon and Garfunkel's version of the folk song Scarborough Fair was thoroughly stuck in my head on the whole bus ride to Whitby.