Leaving England

I am sitting in Heathrow airport, waiting for our flight (we set off early just in case of traffic problems), watching the planes take off, one a minute, into the hot blue English skies.  There are a few foolish birds flying, or attempting to fly across the airspace and I've just watched one hit the ground from the back-draught!  Oops!

Behind me is one of the many televisions endlessly rabbiting on and on about the Duchess of Cambridge being in labour, ready to deliver the nation's heir, be it son or daughter.  I am utterly amazed at the endless drivel which reminds me of a French and Saunders skit about how the Queen might, or might not, or possibly would, be taking a biscuit with her mid-morning snack  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-8mESIK98Q.  There are so many life-size "skits" I have witnessed in England since being here and it makes me laugh to see how accurately comediennes like Catherine Tait have portrayed everyday life!  This endless tv reporting has been going on since 7am and it's now after 5pm and I'm quietly thinking the baby was born hours ago anyway.

England has been in the grip of a heat-wave and the weather has been intensely hot for days on end, with a short break yesterday with cloud cover and the temperature dropping to at least 23C.  It really is amazingly hot and windless with clear blue skies and the heat lasting til 9 at night.  What with the English cricket team's success, the Tour de France winner, the rugby earlier on in the year, and now the eagerly-awaited arrival of the royal baby, one would think this might be another one of England's 'finest hours'.

Cambridge is a pretty city with the river Cam flowing through, a bit like Christchurch with the river Avon.  Plenty of bikes makes it a very bike-friendly place and easy to get around.  It was a nice place to have a conference although I felt the facilities were lacking and it was a pity to have age groups separated physically by some miles apart.  Many of the topics seemed to be just the same as ever and it was difficult to know just what might be new.  The General Assembly completed the six days of meetings (4 days of conference) including two board meetings and it is with quite some relief that my 6 year term has come to its close.  The next country to host the 9th International PWS Conference is Canada, and not Israel as I had hoped it might be.  It seems it is time for the younger, more "passionate" families to take over and fly the flag and for this, I am really glad that there is still that kind of interest.

We will be glad to get home.  Earthquakes rocking Wellington have been a worry from a distance, although the kids assure us all is well, the memory of Christchurch is still way too fresh.  It's cold, they assure me, back home in New Zealand, but I'd rather be there than here, now.

The Fox is Found

Picture inside The Fox's Inn

We drove from Dorset to Essex around the M25 taking several hours to reach our destination.  England is in the middle of a heatwave with days of endless sunshine, heat haze, and temperatures in the high 20s.  The day we travelled was predicted to be the hottest day yet, so it was surprising (to us, at least) to see so many thousands of cars heading south on the motorway to the beach.  Surprising inasmuch as they were nose to tail and for much of the time, stopped dead.  There was no blaring horns, no road rage, just a patient, endless, traffic jam.  Could it be that only the English could spend the hottest day of the year sitting in their cars on a motorway?

So, with the help of our GPS (not only necessary for the navigation, but also for the sanity of the driver and sanctity of the marriage), we deviated to Camberley and Sandhurst for lunch, and arrived at our destination in good time.

Over the next two days we saw some very pretty areas of Essex including the oldest standing wooden church in Europe (in Greensted), the town of Maldon on the river Blackwater (famous for, among other things, its salt), the very pretty village of Finchingfield (which seriously looked like the setting for something like Midsummer Murders, it was so attractive) and Thaxted, another old village in the Essex county.  Essex is a lovely county, given a bad name by tv programmes like The Only Way Is Essex (TOWIE) and the Essex lads and ladettes.

Maldon, on the Blackwater Estuary 

The Blue Boar, Maldon (on left)

Upstairs in The Blue Boar

Wooden bible covers

Greensted church

Finchingfield

Finchingfield

Thaxted

Gustav Holst lived in Thaxted, composing The Planets while here

Finally, and, to make a good ending to this travel blog, we found a charming pub called, appropriately enough, The Fox's Inn, where we had a proper Ploughman's lunch, served on a slate, with good cheeses, bread, and ham, and of course, good ale.

The Fox's Inn at Finchingfield

Picture inside the Fox's Inn

"..and lashings of ginger beer"

"Five go mad in Dorset", the parody of Enid Blyton's Famous Five books which I very clearly remember as a child (blah blah blah stolen plans blah blah kidnapped blah blah mad scientist blah blah).  The five, and Timmy the dog, were always cycling down country lanes, having picnics with loads of turkey and ham sandwiches, and 'lashings of ginger beer', while planning the rescue of their kidnapped uncle who was a mad scientist.  Or something similar.  So, the country lanes are still there, the beautiful rolling hills and downs, and the stunningly beautiful coastal bays and white cliffs are still all there.  It's just that there are So Many People as well!  You have to work hard at imagining the quiet coves with no shops, cafes, or tourist gimmicks, and the stealthy slap, slap, slap, of oars as smugglers move their booty around the coast.

Where we are staying - just near to Corfe Castle, in fact you can see it from the bedroom window -  is beautiful rolling countryside with hedgerows and long walking paths across hills, with views to the sea.  The coast is all part of the Jurassic coast and the geography and history is all so interesting.

To be taken around by one's lovely and generous host, who knows this land like the back of her hand and can lead you to the most charming of walled towns (and find good coffee!), and around the back country roads, is a gift indeed.  Knowing where to look and what lies behind the heavily hedged lanes, and what shortcuts to go via, does make a difference!

Dorset is full of thatched cottages, surprising little pubs, and lots of lovely cider.  I'm getting quite fond of cider.

There's lovely!

Oh to be in England, now that Summer's here...

The weather in England during the week that we've been here, is already being described as a heatwave!  It is cloudless, windless, with temperatures of around 25C.  Wonder how long it will last!

And so... Paddy met us at Ashford International railway station, dressed in the same clothes I last saw him in, in New Zealand  (Paddy sailed around the world in a very small boat named Tessa.  The journey was supposed to be nonstop, but because he was bowled in the Great Australian Bite, he had to stop in Timaru and this is when I last saw him, in 2011.  He did, by the way, complete his journey without further hitch, although God knows how he did it.  He said, "you have to be a little bit mad to know you're not crazy" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AD8fXXoja6E)  He hadn’t changed and nor had Shelagh.  Only the dogs were different, ie more of them and a couple of new ones.  It always feels like coming home as I walk into the kitchen with the Aga glowing contentedly in the corner, the table in the middle of the room covered, as ever, with piles of newspapers, a few magazines, condiments, odd books and a variety of items.  'Shelagh in the kitchen' really should be the name of a book because it is here that she effortlessly excels.   

After dinner that evening, a car pulled up at the house and in came Anthony Kelly, a man I had heard a great deal about in the past as his eccentricities were well known to the press.  This was the man who had taken various body parts from a hospital and brought them home to 'cast'.  The story hit the papers some years ago, but I see it is still available online and seems to have made Wikipedia  as well.  

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony-Noel_Kelly and http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/his-masters-vice-1096981.html

It's the Kelly family that Shelagh's daughter has married into and it is Shelagh's granddaughter's wedding that we are going to.

Saturday, the day of the wedding, was hot, but the old stone church at Smarden was cool and refreshing.  The service was both Anglican and Catholic (the Kellys come from a long line of Catholics), and very long.  Four pages with hymns that went on for verse after verse, including the great "Jerusalem".  The bride looked elfin-like, very thin, with the family tiara and necklace to match.  She could easily have been a bride in the 16^th century.  The groom been in the Scots Guards and his groomsmen were all in Scottish trews; and there was a Scots guard of honour, compete with busbees. 

Bride and groom left the church in an Invictor car, which had been designed by Noel Macklin, Shelagh’s grandfather.  The reception was held at Romden Castle http://www.romdencastle.co.uk/  which is really a kind of folly than a castle, but it has a tower and turret and is named on the map as a castle.  The interior of this rather extraordinary building is an utter shambles.  Rooms look as though they've been tacked on as afterthoughts.  It’s ramshackle, full of "stuff" and piled high with extraneous detritus of everday life.  Oh, and dogs.  Did I mention the dogs?

Bridal party in the Invicta, racing alongside the helicopter
in which the bride and groom arrived at the reception.

The church must have held at least 600 people who all came back to Romden for the reception.  After the bride and groom left in the Invicta, most of the guests left and those who were invited to the dinner (at least 200) all trooped into the huge marquee.  There were tables of 10, each with the name of a tennis player (appropriate, since Murray had just won Wimbledon).  Above each table was a massive helium balloon, held down with ribbons.

It was quite an experience.

Back to Vermenton

We left our mooring and travelled up past Vermenton where we had boarded the boat, just to look up river a little further.  It was interesting to see how quickly the scenery changed – from our narrow little canal with trees dripping over the sides, to open farmland, the quintessential flat countryside dotted with haybales. Houses look new and characterless.  It was then that I realised why we were recommended to go south rather than north.  It was charm personified compared to this open, wide countryside.

Shadows and reflections

We ended up at Vincelles, about 5 locks north, which is a nice little town with two boulangeries and a tabac where we had a beer and where we thought we would return to that evening.  However, it was shut, and they recommended another place alongside the river.  Turned out to be only inches away from where we were moored – at the time, we had thought that too, was closed. 

The meal we had there was really lovely and quite different from anything else I've eaten so far: galettes… which are a buckwheat flour, open pancakes, crispy on the edges which are turned up to form a plate which holds the filling.  Jenny had snails with sauce and mushrooms with cream and soft cheese.  I had a ‘farm' galette with slices of potato, goat cheese and ham.  Nick had cheese and ham with a sauce Chablienne or chabliesse, can’t remember which.  I'm definitely going to make these when I get home!

I decided  to slay the Chablis ghost, having had such a shocking glass of it just two nights before, and this time, it was perfect.  At this little restaurant they specialised in the local cider, served in cappuccino-sized stoneware cups.  We sat outside under wide umbrellas and next to two couples, South African and English.  We’d seen them several times at different locks, so it was very companionable to sit and chat.  People always ask where you are going where you are from etc, so I was pleasantly surprised by the woman next to me who knew what Prader-Willi syndrome was.  It’s always nice to cut through all that explanation and then sympathetic looks etc, to someone who simply expresses empathy.

At our mooring were a group of skinny children who spent the entire afternoon and most of the evening jumping off the edge of the mooring into the river Yonne.  The energy they must have expended would have powered our boat for a day, I think.  One child, with ribs sticking out and shoulder blades to cut bread with, was shivering and cold, but was not giving up.  Nick told them he would throw a 50c piece for them to dive for, and made them all get into the river.  He threw the coin, and the smartest of them leapt like a trout before it had even touched the water.  Clever kids.

The weather has been beautiful these past few days, but the clouds are gathering and there could be a storm before the night is through.  And thus it was, that I woke to drips falling on my head from the window which I'd left open above my bed and now a steady line of drops were falling onto the duvet.  

It is our last few hours on the boat; we are leaving by 9 in the morning to catch the first lock and be back at Vermenton by lunchtime.  The rain has stopped this morning, but it is the grey drizzle of our first day repeated.   We really have been lucky (why do we always think good weather equates good luck?) with the last three hot days which we have spent alternatively walking alongside the canal in the morning, and crowding into the shade from the rather small sun-umbrella atop.  

Jenny is doing the calculations for our expenses as we make our way ‘home’.  Four nights and days’ meals came to E606 which is E151 each for four days.  From the meals that we ate, the two least interesting were the ‘gourmet’ meal and the one we had at the Chateau which apparently had a good write up.  Again, and I know I’m stating the obvious, the freshly prepared meals win over the pre-prepared (but pretty) meals every time.  (Do I really talk about food all the time?  Don't answer that.)

We seem to be the only boat on the river this morning.  Five locks to go through and Jenny and Nick are taking care of that.  I’m being idle – although I have done my bit and know how to throw a rope and steady the boat – and sitting indoors.

It didn't take long to get back to Vermenton; we scrubbed down the boat, paid our dues, and had lunch in the village.  The drive to Auxerre didn't take too long, but the train we had to catch meant we didn't get a chance to look around this old town.  We caught the train with a minute to spare and fled Paris at high speed to the UK where Paddy met us at Ashford International railway station.

And here begins the chapter of our UK visit...

Clamecy sur Yonne

Saturday/Sunday 30 June: 

Shelagh (in the UK) rang at around 11pm to see where we were – expecting us to be in NZ.  Apparently Dominic has come to grief with a cyclist who bowled him when crossing the road in London.  She wanted to know where we were to be picked up from, whether it was an airport.  I think she was vastly relieved to find it was from the nearest railway station.  After that, I was wide awake, so spent some time texting family as there was reception.  Francie has learned that she is to be an aunt for the second time, and to a niece.  She is thrilled to bits!  I finally fell asleep around 2am and awoke to the church bells...

The boat’s power system let us down last night, our fault, as we weren't plugged into the onshore electricity overnight and somehow the boat's battery had become absolutely drained when we stopped.  

In the morning, we went back to the tabac/bar that we had a drink in last night.  Jenny and I decided to try the local Chablis - it was absolutely vile and we could tell it was off, just from its bouquet... but the young woman kept on and on about it being perfectly ok.  She even gave Jenny another 'fresh' glass.  Just as bad.  Smelled and tasted like kerosene.  Anyway, we went back in the morning for croissants and coffee.  The coffee was a large cup of hot milk with a faint flavour of caffine, so still the great coffee hunt is still on.  However, when we went to pay for this, the shop assistant took off a few euros because of last night's wine.  Maybe they decided we were right and their wine hadn't 'just been opened' that day.  We found the little super marché and bought Italian ground coffee as there is a plunger on board.  Thoughtful acquisition.  Also bought several excellent cheeses, some smoked ham and salami, beautiful large tomatoes and breads.  

Onwards we pressed, going through lock after lock, walking in between some of them, and stopping for lunch by a weir in the Yonne which was running alongside the Canal.  The cheeses are fabulous!  The prosciutto is delicious!  Coffee is getting better!  As we motor along the canal, we often see the river Yonne running close by.  Sometimes it's lower than we are, sometimes we actually go into the Yonne before turning off again into the canals. We even passed a little village called Lucy sur Yonne.

Our destination for Sunday evening was Clemecy which turned out to be a charming little town – quiet, of course – but with a few little shops, a large church atop the hill, and a strong history of being the central point for logging in the olden days.  Logs were milled and simply floated down the Yonne to Paris, and .. was one of the main areas dedicated to this business.  From what I could gather, the town was basically started by a couple of families who seemed to maintain the right to govern and lead.  Since it was Sunday, we were a little dubious about what might be open that evening; we found a bar and had a bier while discussing where we might eat.  Jenny and I were keen to try out an Algerian restaurant specialising in couscous and tagine.  We sat atop our boat drinking wine and eating nuts and nibbles until the restaurant opened at 7pm.  We were looking forward to the tagines..

..What we found, however, was that one had to order the tagine well in advance.  I mean, a day in advance.  Or at least phone on the day and order for that evening.  So we had instead a mammoth bowl of beautiful, light, fluffy, couscous and a platter of lamb kebabs and a couple of pieces of chicken.  Along with this came another large bowl filled with what could have been soup with large pieces of vegetables and chickpeas.  This was to flavour the couscous and provide a sauce.  To top it off was a small dish of very hot harrissa.  The restaurant had soft sofas and small curtained-off rooms, as one might expect to see in Morocco or the Eastern countries.  It was very convivial and not expensive.

The town's history is to do with logging. Log 'trains' were floated down the river to Paris and the town was built and developed really just be one family.  I was standing on the bridge looking at a statue to the loggers when an old man tapped me on the shoulder and started to talk, in French, about the statue.  It's moments like these when you wish you could speak the language fluently enough to converse.  He shook my hand, tipped his hat and walked away.

We walked back to the boat, talking to others moored nearby.  We are near to a German boat, a long yellow American boat, and across the water from us is a British couple with two dogs.  Many people cruise the locks as a way of life, or at least for all of the English winter months.  Some, like us, are just there for a few weeks or days.  I am sorry that we are having to return the same way as it would have been nice to keep on going.  But, tomorrow we start our return journey of two days, and then onto Paris.