Day 16 - 9 May 2013, Part 1 - The Peak District and Castleton

The doctors hadn't come up with a definitive diagnosis for Amanda's daughter so it was going to be a full day of hospital testing until they found the culprit. With that in mind, Amanda stoically carried on and picked me up at the Rutland Hotel for a day out sightseeing. I reassured her that I would be fine if she wanted to stay with her daughter. Nope! She would stay in contact by texting and if anything came up, then we could reassess.

The Peak District is just outside of Sheffield. It's extensive. And breathtakingly beautiful. We'd gone a little ways into it when Amanda pulled into a car park (seemingly in the middle of nowhere) and said, "We're taking a hike."

Okay. I bundled up and we followed a trail to a bluff overlooking the valley seen below. At first, we stood behind a low stone wall. Then, to get a better view of the views, I stepped over the wall. Amanda told me she was staying put. Fear of heights, remember? That was okay. My biggest concern was stepping in the sheep droppings. Authentic sheep droppings this time. Sorry; I didn't take a photo of those although I was tempted.

There are so many photos below because I didn't have the heart to eliminate any of them--the views were stunning. I could have stood on this bluff for an hour taking in the panorama.

See the little village to the right middle of the photo, down in the valley? After leaving this bluff, we drove through there, then on to Castleton, which is barely seen by the tiny white dots in the upper left valley.  

In the middle of the photo below you can see the trail continuing on, but we returned to the car. The low brown stuff is heather. Amanda said when it's in bloom, the hillsides are solid purple.

This is on our way back to the car. Now it's more apparent just how much heather covered the area.

 

This stand of aspen/birch trees will make it into a future painting. I'd love to see the hillsides when all the heather is in bloom.

 

 

We stopped in Castleton for lunch and also toured a small museum here. This village was so cool. Amanda told me that her husband proposed in this café where we ate--The Three Roofs Café.

 

Driving through the village--it's the village we drove through before we arrived in Castleton. I'm sorry but I can't remember its name.

The church straight ahead up on the hill was built in 1000 A.D.

 

 

After lunch we walked through Castleton. My husband and I (and our daughters) lived in Indianapolis in the 80s and early 90s--there's an area on the northeast side of Indy called Castleton. I wondered if this village was the inspiration. 

 

In the hills around there, they mine a stone called Blue John. This is the only place in the world where it's found. There are so many little jewelry stores in this village selling rings, necklaces, bracelets, etc., all made with Blue John. I bought a pair of earrings with Blue John to remember this area by. And if I didn't buy it here, where else could I get it? I also bought a malachite bracelet. They mined malachite here at one time, but the salesladies said this malachite probably came from elsewhere.

 

Sights on our walk.

Aren't the private gardens beautiful? What surprised me is how chilly it was, yet everything was in bloom!

How would you like to drive a car around this blind corner? Reminds me of a couple stretches of road I drove in the Cotswolds.

This church was built in 1100 A.D. It was quite controversial when they built it. Remember the church on the hill in the photo up above? Everyone said they already had a church in the area and the villages couldn't possibly support two churches "so close together." Something tells me they made it work.

 

After leaving Castleton, we drove on to Chatsworth House, home to the 12th Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. That place deserves its own blog posting, but I'll leave you with a little teaser.

And that white stuff to the left of this "house?" Yeah--enclosed scaffolding. I'm telling you, I couldn't get away from the stuff!

 



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.

 

 

Day 14 - 7 May 2013 - British Museum

When I arrived back at the Euro Hotel the previous evening, I was delighted my new room was not again in the basement. In fact, it was on the main floor, which meant no stairs to haul those heavy bags up and down. Score!

Two remaining items on my must-see list were the British Museum and the Tate Britain. Looking on my London map, the British Museum was not too far away walking distance, so I set off late morning and had no trouble finding it.

A short aside: on my way there, I waited at a traffic light to cross the street. Three feet away stood the quintessential English nanny -- taller than me, probably six feet, very thin, austere face, probably in her 40s and dressed head to toe in black in that nanny uniform. I should have snapped a photo but couldn't get my camera ready quickly enough before Nanny Stern (the name I made up because she had a very stern, no-nonsense look about her) burst across the street and out of sight. Wow! That lady was on a mission!

Back on track to the British Museum. Here it is from the outside. I was surprised by how large and so very impressive it looked.

 

I loved this detail above the front entry doors.

 

This is my self-portrait to prove I was really there and didn't grab these photos off some random website. There were several days that I wore no makeup because the brisk air caused my eyes to water. Excessively. Makeup was then an effort in futility.

The next three photos are the grand entrance hall. Notice in the third photo the hordes of high school age kids on a field trip. At least that's what it would have been in the States. Not sure what they would call that in England. 

 

To be honest, this is the real reason I came to the British Museum, to see the Rosetta Stone. It was much larger and thicker (8 inches!) than I had imagined.

 

 

To my delight, there were many, many more things to see of great interest. I've never been a history buff by any stretch of the imagination, but what continued to amaze me was the age of the different artifacts on exhibit. Here are just a few. I wish I'd been able to get photos of the mummies and a few other things, but my camera battery died.

The next three items had me awestruck--look at the dates on the descriptions.

 



I had to take this photo. It's an Egyptian scarab. Remember my little scarab green car I rented? Hmmm. I guess they couldn't find any brilliant green stone and had to make do with this... Funny, too, since they worshiped this as a god.

How many of us knew that parts of the Greek Parthenon are in England? I didn't. Modern day, Greece wants these back. England argues that Greece didn't do such a hot job of keeping the place intact when they had the chance. So right now, it's a stand-off. This display room is the exact size of the Greek Parthenon, with these different parts in the exact position they would occupy if still intact at the actual Parthenon. Not sure I'll ever make it to Greece, so this was a cool experience for me.

 

I ate a snack at the museum café just to the back of the grand entrance hall. Then I went upstairs and spent about an hour with the mummies before leaving. On the way back to the Euro Hotel, I walked through a large, beautiful park that had a restaurant on the far corner. I had lunch there. Then it was time to get my laundry sorted and walk over to the launderette (laundromat for you Yanks) just around the corner from the Euro.

 

About the launderette . . . it's about half the size (or less) of conventional laundromats that you see in the States, and instead of putting your money in at the exact machine you're going to use, there's a central place that you punch in the number of your machine, and put the money in there. Then you go back to your machine and punch in the particular settings that you want, and press start. Same thing for the dryers. The central pay machine requires exact change, and they don't have a change machine. Just F.Y.I. in case you need to do your laundry in London. And bring lots of pound coins because it is expensive. Six pounds (about $10) for one washing machine load. You better believe I jammed in as much as I could into one machine!

 

Funny story about the launderette. I struck up a conversation there with a couple about my age from New Zealand who were on an extended holiday. Very interesting! Right after they left, there were two or three other people remaining in the place when some guy walked in empty-handed (read, no laundry) and started talking with the other people in the back. I was at the front and couldn't hear exactly what he was saying over the noise from all the machines. Next thing I know, this guy is standing in front of me, hitting me up for a handout. He tells me he's hungry and just needs something to eat, and that I need to give him money. This may sound all judgy-judgy on my part, but he was at least 100 pounds overweight and reeked of cigarettes. My first thought was, buddy, you could stand to miss a meal or ten. And I can talk because I'm not exactly svelte at this point in my life. I told him I couldn't help him out and turned my back to him while getting clothes out of the washer. He then stood there, repeating, getting louder with each statement, "Madam, I'm starving. Do you hear me? I'm starving. I'm starving, Madam. Just give me some money for food. I'm starving, I'm starving, I'm starving."

 

If his approach had been different--more humble, perhaps? because I've given homeless people money for food--you know, politely asking rather than yammering-away-at-me-to-wear-me-down approach, I might have given him some money. But as a woman traveling alone, I try to be aware of potentially threatening situations. So I continued to ignore him and he left the launderette.

 

Over the next half hour, I saw him off and on out on the street, hitting up various people for money, and even walking up to cars stopped at the light to panhandle from them. Then I guess he figured there must be a new batch of people to hit up in the launderette, because he came back in, and again went to the back first. This time I could plainly hear him yammering away at some poor guy. Only this time the spiel was that he wanted money for the bus to get home. Poor Guy tried to simply explain to Yammering Beggar that he just had enough money for his laundry with nothing to spare. The guy sounded so sweet and genuine, that I wanted to go back and say, "You don't owe this jerk an explanation. Just tell him to go away." I didn't, though. I kept my mouth shut and minded my own business--incredibly difficult but I managed. And I didn't even think that Yammering Beggar would be dumb enough to hit me up again. But he did.

 

Big mistake. Big. Huge.

 

He'd no sooner spewed his "Madam, give me money for the bus, I have to get home," when I nailed him. Not quietly either. Oh, no. Far from quiet.

 

"The BUS? Is that what your con game is now? When you were in here half an hour ago, you hit me up for money because you were starving, you were STARVING, YOU WERE STARVING!!" Yes, I was that loud. "I'm not giving you any money and don't ask me again. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" said with my index finger jabbing three inches away from his face. 

 

He was stunned into silence. Gaping mouth and all. I wish I had the photo of his face, but it is etched in my mind. Well, stunned into silence for all of about three seconds, when he then asked, "May I help you with your laundry?"

 

"NO!!"

 

He left quickly. As I finished up, I didn't dare look at my fellow launderette people for fear they thought there was a madwoman still in their midst. Five minutes later, I was outta there and thankfully headed back to the Euro Hotel for the evening. And Yammering guy was nowhere to be seen.