Day 15 - 8 May 2013 - Tate Britain, Suitcase Shuffle, and Sheffield's Root-lund

Today was the day I'd be taking the train up to the Yorkshire area of England--specifically, Sheffield, where Amanda lives--and I wasn't planning on hauling two suitcases, either. The dilemma, though, became, where do I store the second suitcase? I didn't want to fork out another thirty-four pounds at the train station. Then it hit me--if the Euro Hotel had been kind enough to store it while I was away in Paris when I was coming back to stay at their establishment, maybe the Rubens Hotel (my next reservation when I returned to London in a week) could store one suitcase there for a week.

I called and asked.

No problem, they replied.

Great! I thought. Only problem was, getting it there. The Rubens was clear across town! Hauling it on the tube was out of the question, which left me with--you guessed it--getting a taxi. Then what to do with my other suitcase, the one I planned on taking on the train? Well, the Euro would gladly store that for the day until I was ready to come back and head to the train station. King's Cross was only a few walking blocks away, after all. And after I had deposited my bag at the Rubens, the Tate Britain was within walking distance from there, and I had plenty of time to check that item off my to-do list. I knew that the museum wouldn't allow photos, so why take the camera? It had been drizzling off and on, too; not great for a camera.

So the plan went like this: Suitcase (locked, with camera stuffed inside) and carry-on stored at the Euro Hotel for the day; extra suitcase taken by taxi across town to the Rubens, where they gladly received it and wished me well for the coming week until I saw them again; tour of the Tate Britain; lunch; back to the Euro via the tube to collect traveling suitcase and carry-on and briskly walk over to King's Cross to catch my north-bound train. As the British say, sorted!

One little hitch . . . the Tate Britain does allow photos. And it has the largest collection of J. M. W. Turner in the world. He's only one of my very favorite artists, who left just about his entire collection to the Tate. And me without my camera. Insert very, very long sad face here. So of course now I'll have to make a return trip to England, back to the Tate Britain. Happiness ensues at that thought.

On the way back in the tube, we had a glitch and were hung up. I barely made it in time for my train. The good news? I had a reservation in first class. They treat you well in first class, I found out. Just know that I rarely travel that way. Well, practically never. It was only on the insistence of my husband that I upgraded to be more comfortable. It was worth every penny. These are some of the sights I managed to capture through the train windows.

How close we were to the North Sea for part of the journey.

There were fields and fields of yellow along the way. This is called rapeseed. Did you know this is where canola oil comes from? I didn't until HM told me. The fields were brilliant!



 

When I arrived in Sheffield, there was another small glitch. Amanda's daughter had been having severe pain off and on, and they ended up putting her in the hospital. Of course Amanda was very worried about her daughter, and concerned that I had arrived in town. No worries, I told her. You take care of your daughter, and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Who has worries when Harry Potter himself hauls your bag to your room?

 

This young man was so kind. I asked him if anyone had ever told him that he looked like Daniel Radcliffe (the actor who plays Harry Potter). No, he replied. Everyone says I look like Harry Potter. His real name is James.

His last name is unpronounceable in Welsh. Took me three tries to get it somewhat correct.

 

 

The Rutland B&B Hotel in Sheffield was so quaint and charming. Getting to my room each time from the lobby was hilarious. I went up and down so many stairs, and back up and down and up more stairs. It felt like a rabbit's warren--I wouldn't have been surprised to see a bunny or two hopping along the way. 

 

The photos below were taken from the inside of the B&B looking out. If you look very closely at the first photo off in the distance, you'll see one of the high hills of Sheffield. The city is built on seven hills, like the city of Rome.

 

Part of the B&B.

The high hill is much more visible in this photo.

You can see the enclosed "bridge" I had to cross before all the stairs began.

The room I stayed in here was one of a very few that actually had air conditioning. The place was cozy, the people unbelievably nice and accommodating, and the price couldn't be beat. If I ever go back to Sheffield, the Rutland is where I'll stay again.

 

Funny story: the taxi driver who took me from the train station to the Rutland was from India or Pakistan or another country with that distinct accent. When he asked my destination, I pronounced the name of the hotel how we would say it here in the States -- Rut (like a deep groove in a dirt road) plus Land (self-explanatory). He asked me three times to say it before he finally asked me to spell it. Then recognition lit up his face as he said, "Ah! Root-lund." After we arrived at the hotel, I asked the receptionist how to pronounce the name of the hotel. Yep. Root-lund. In the future I'll know.