It seems that the only thing consistent about English weather is that it is completely changeable and unreliable. On more than one occasion on this trip—in this week—we have experienced, within one day, clear sunny skies, overcast clouds, drizzle, light rain, and a drenching downpour. And then the same all over again. And again.
At 6:30 in the morning Thursday began with blue skies and sunshine, a promising start for my plans of the day (climbing Glastonbury Tor and visiting Stourhead Garden). This was the day I decided to run down to Bath city center and run along the walking tour that is marked on my pop-out map. Good idea, in part, because the route took me all over and around Bath and let me build up some mileage while seeing the sights of Bath.
Not so good idea, in part, because I had to stop every few minutes to look at the map, because goodness knows I can't retain more than one street direction in my head at a time, and this route changed directions a lot. I actually missed a few of the finer turns I was supposed to make and had to redirect myself to stay on the path! I never did see Trim Street (an early miss) until I turned up in it on Friday morning (purely by chance). (It's a narrow bendy street with very bumpy cobblestones, tucked in between other streets, very easy to miss.)
But I did cover all of Bath pretty thoroughly, from the Bath Abbey and Roman Baths, to the Royal Crescent and Circus, and even across Pulteney Bridge and on, turning around at the Holborn Museum, then along the River Avon and weir through Parade Gardens, back across North Parade Bridge and on to the railway station, then back up the hill to Haydon House.
By the time I returned to Haydon House, around 7:45 or 8, ominous clouds were already starting to roll in. Having already experienced yesterday's unpredictable weather (where the rain never really happened, until just as we were returning to our car at 4:00 the skies opened up and released the floods on us, I had no intention of cancelling my plans "just in case" the weather was bad. I decided to accomplish my walk to Glastonbury Tor, rain or shine.
So after breakfast (where I had already established a "usual” of a small porridge with berries, raisins and dried apricots, and walnuts, plus scrambled eggs with smoked salmon (they give you quite a lot of the lox, and I felt it was my duty to eat it all). we all got into the car so I could again drop my father at the railway station before heading out with my mother.
My father was going to Salisbury on the train.
He wasn’t particularly thrilled with that destination for a train ride, because the train on that route is kind of dumpy and there’s no first class, but I convinced him that Salisbury was a good place to see. He came back that night saying that Salisbury is the greatest town he’s visited yet—so I felt vindicated in persuading him to go there.Since my mother and I were heading south again, I thought we might as well drive through Cheddar on our way to Glastonbury. I didn’t want to take the time to stop in town—and besides, I had already spent extensive time in Cheddar last spring with my fellow travelers and cheese lovers—but I wanted to see Cheddar Gorge anyway and that would take only minutes to do. We didn’t even need to stop at all, but I was drowsy so we took a few minutes to stop and doze in one of the car parks along Cheddar Gorge. So yes, I napped in Cheddar Gorge instead of, say hiking or touring the caves. But it’s amazing what a few minutes of sleep can do to prevent that feeling of wanting to fall asleep at the wheel and drive off the road!
Last year we left Cheddar bearing a lot of cheese, some of which we ate along the way during the remainder of our trip, some of which traveled home. Two years before that in Cheddar, we had bought some Scrumpy, a type of hard apple cider which Somerset is famed for (I believe I even recall Rick Steves promoting it on his show). Well, that Scrumpy was the most disgusting beverage I have ever tasted. I am quite certain it is what manure would taste like, if you ever distilled it into a beverage and drank it. (I don't know how I know this, I just do.) After just a few sips (why I took more than one, I'm not sure), we dumped the rest down the sink. (And that is saying something for inveterate tightwads who hoard crusts of bread and cheese, and partly drank bottles of diet Coke for future meals.) I have not had any desire to try Scrumpy again.
From Cheddar we resumed the route to Glastonbury. I had picked out a road that went directly from Cheddar to Glastonbury, bypassing Wells, but in a typical moment of misdirection we missed that turn and found ourselves back on the road to Wells. No big deal, at least it was a known path, and we zipped quickly down the familiar road through Wells to Glastonbury, spotting landmarks with a fond sense of déjà vu.
Just outside of Wells is the Pound Inn—each time go by I wonder whether the "pound" in the name means a pound like the money, or like the weight measurement, or the verb "pound," or a name like the poet Ezra Pound (who, though born in Idaho, did live in England for a number of years, where he was friends with W.B. Yeats and T.S. Eliot, before moving to Paris)—and by the time these thoughts pass through my head, we are past the Pound Inn and onward down the road.
Next there is the Camelot Inn, a sign that we are approaching Glastonbury with its mythical King Arthur connections. Just before you pass the Camelot Inn, a road sign warns caution—"Hidden Pub Entrance Ahead"—but it doesn't seem particularly hidden to me, because I always see their signs promoting two for one dinners (and a father's day special coming up), even before I see the name of the inn. (Now, is the sign there to warn you that there may be cars pulling out of the pub into the road, or is it a warning in case you might miss the pub entrance and go on without stopping?)
My mother is particularly fond of the signs just into Glastonbury directing us to "Tor football." Nothing special about that, just the amusing idea of looking for the Glastonbury Tor and instead getting caught up in a football match!
We parked easily in a car park near the town center. For a small town, Glastonbury is full of car parks. Possibly to accommodate the large number of visitors who come for the various Glastonbury Festivals - but today it was pretty quiet and we had no problem parking. My mother noticed, as she spent a couple of hours in the car waiting for me, that apparently we were the only people who bothered to actually "pay and display" parking tickets.
The weather, during our drive to Glastonbury, had fluctuated from drizzly to rainy, and I expected to have some rain during my walk. Originally I had planned to follow a 6½ mile route from my Somerset walks guidebook, but since it was already noon and rain seemed inevitable, I decided to cut it in half (approximately) and only walk up to the Tor and back. The remaining farmland portion would have to wait for another time.
I walked into the High Street (the main street of town), to look for a restroom before heading out. The man at the tourist information center directed me to another car park which has an "all-singing, all-dancing" restroom (a quote). Now, I wouldn't normally spend time writing about trips to the toilets, but this particular restroom facility truly deserves a mention. I finally found it, after some confusion (as usual), and as I opened the door I was greeted by piped in music (at somewhat eerie, mysterious tune was being played at the time), and as I secured the lock a voice welcomed me to the facility and told me that my time (in the restroom) was limited, but assured me that I would be notified when it was time to leave. All the fixtures were metal, and the faucet, soap, and hand dryer were automated and built into the wall. To flush the toilet you simply touched a spot on the wall. On the exit door there was a warning to be sure to unlock the door before trying to open it, or apparently some sort of security system would kick in. I did manage to get in and out without setting off any alarms or using up my allotted time!
I used up a bit of time in my quest for the restrooms, and by the time I headed off in the direction of the Tor it was after 12:30. Time was significant to me only because we had paid for two hours of parking, and although my mother could (and had directions to) put more money in the machine if needed, I figured she might start to wonder what happened to me if I was gone too long! Plus I had the goal to get on to Stourhead before too late in the day!
The route from the town center to the base of the Tor simply followed the road. My book did not include this part, of course, because if I was following the book I would be out in the middle of nowhere by this time! But luckily the roadway was pretty well signed.
Glastonbury and the Tor are the subject of number of legends. According to my walk book, legend says that St. Joseph of Arimathea visited Britain around AD 60 and came to Glastonbury. While there he reputedly founded the first Christian church; stuck his staff in the ground on Wearyall Hill, causing it to grow and flower into the Glastonbury Thorn; and hidden the Holy Grail, the cup used by Christ at the Last Supper, beneath a well on Chalice Hill. At the Chalice Well (which you can visit by paying the entry fee into Chalice Gardens), the water is stained red—probably due to mineral deposits in the soil, but the legend says it is because of the Holy Grail containing the blood of Christ.
Glastonbury is also linked to the story of King Arthur, and he and his wife Guinevere are said to be buried in Glastonbury Abbey. (Of course, a number of other places in England and Wales also claim connections with King Arthur.) The Glastonbury area is called the Isle of Avalon, a link to King Arthur legends. The alleged tomb was apparently faked by monks in the 12th century, but the Arthurian connection remains part of Glastonbury's lure.
Glastonbury Abbey is a dramatic ruin, the site of various monasteries and churches throughout the centuries. Over the years many pilgrims traveled to visit Glastonbury, including the modern-day ones who continue to come today, making their offerings to the various businesses, attractions, and restaurants in the town. In addition to the mythical historical aura, Glastonbury retains a sort of sixties culture, attracting the same type of people who might go visit Woodstock. My mother, who spent a couple of hours sitting in the car watching people come and go, said there are a lot of hippies in this town—and they all have grey hair.
As I made my way up the streets toward the base of the Tor, the rains suddenly came, in torrents and giant drops. Even though I stood under a tree for a few minutes waiting for the rain to let up, within minutes my pant legs were soaked halfway up the thigh. (Luckily, I was wearing my hooded gortex raincoat, which prevented me from becoming entirely drenched.)
The footpath to the Tor began just past the Chalice Gardens.
I would have liked to see the Chalice Well, but I didn't want to pay for entry on a day when I didn't have time to spend walking around the gardens. Particularly with the rain, I just wanted to get on with it.The Glastonbury Tor is a cone-shaped hill, topped with a tower.
The path up the Tor is a steep paved path, alternating with sections of stairsteps. The mythical significance of Glastonbury Tor is a little less clear to me (see, for example, All about Glastonbury Tor). What is clear is the amazing views as you climb the Tor, expanding to almost a 360 degree view from the top.
As I walked upwards, the rain abated a bit, enough to allow me to take pictures, although by the time I reached the top I was again buffeted by wind gusts and bursts of rain.
I took shelter in the tower at the top for a few minutes before starting down.
My down path was not the same as my up path. My walk book urged me to take the alternate path, to the right of the tower, which was a narrow, possibly steeper path than the way up. I did feel moments of nervousness as I picked my way down through the wind! Although, since I was surrounded by a grassy slope (though a steep grassy slope), what was the worst that could happen?
Needless to say, I made it down to the bottom of the Tor without incident. I was at the bottom of the Tor but I was also, for the most part, in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, I had my book to guide me, as I passed through a kissing gate (as directed). Of course, following the book's path meant not just paved paths and road, but fields, footpaths, gates, stiles, and periodic moments of confusion and uncertainty, As when I came to a Y in the road and the book did not mention what to do. (Fortunately the map did show the two roads and I could tell that I was to keep to the left.) My only real moment of wondering whether I would actually successfully find my way back to Glastonbury occurred as I was walking along the road looking for a public footpath sign where I was to turn right over a stile (into a field). As many times before, I seemed to go an awfully long way before that obscure footpath sign turned up—and even then I wasn't completely certain that it was the right spot. But from there on the route worked like clockwork, and I was even more relieved when I caught up with a woman and a dog, giving me some assurance that I was on a commonly recognized route.
The view of the town below me helped too.
Shortly before coming into town, I encountered several cows standing in the path. In Somerset the walking routes seem to be populated by cows, rather than the sheep I met in the Cotswolds. I guess this is dairy country instead of wool country. The cows let both me and the dog that was traveling somewhat ahead of me pass peacefully.
Then I was back in Glastonbury right on schedule, a few minutes before 2:00. Before going to the car, I stepped into a yoga shop, and was somewhat tempted to buy a hemp shirt (in the spirit of Glastonbury). But I couldn't make a selection and also, the store smelled heavily of incense which I was afraid would permeate my suitcase and other clothes, so, unable to make a decision, I went on.
By now the rain had let up for long enough that my pants were almost entirely dry. I am amazed at the miracle fabric! My feet, however, were exceedingly damp due to my non-waterproof shoes.
I insisted that my mother go see the "all singing, all dancing" public restrooms before we left. Since we were also passing the town bakery (called "Burns the Bread"), we stopped in to get a couple of Cornish pasties (called "Glastonbury pasties" for fun here) to have a bite of lunch before going on, and stocked up on extras to have for tonight's dinner.
It was only 2:30, and the afternoon was young, so we set our sites for Stourhead. Although Stourhead House would not be open on a Thursday, the gardens were open until 7 p.m. and it really made it easier not to have to deal with the house also. It took us about an hour to drive there from Glastonbury.
National Trust Stourhead is a celebrated 18th century garden and Palladian mansion. It is probably the biggest and most diversified of the national trust sites we've visited yet. In addition to the House and gardens, National Trust shop, and restaurant, there is a farm shop which sells products from the Stourhead farm, and an inn on the grounds that is not owned by the National Trust.
Our first order of business (despite the pasties in Glastonbury), was tea in the cafe. If nothing else, I wanted to be able to say "I had tea at Stourhead." Scones and cake finished, we headed back out to follow the 2-mile walk around the grounds. (My mother still believes it was longer than two miles.) Stourhead's garden is a sweeping landscape, planted with trees and shrubs (including rhododendrons and laurel).
The path ambles around the perimeter and around the edge of the lake, providing stunning views and classical features, such as Temple of Flora, the Pantheon, the Temple of Apollo, Gothic ruins and a Palladian Bridge. My mother insists that we went more than two miles, but I think that's about right....We returned to the beginning at just a little before 6:00. The drive back to Bath was pretty easy, leading us to our favorite road into Bath (because it goes almost directly to Haydon House), the A-367. The only moment of confusion was actually getting onto the A-367 in Radstock, at a most-confusing double-mini-roundabout. This was two small roundabouts adjacent to one another—to make the turn onto A-367 you went around both, then turned right off of the first one. I did it right, amazingly, and from there sailed smoothly on to Bath.
The next day, Friday, we would return to London.
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