Thursday, March 26, 2009
One more thing before I go
Or two. I have a couple more posts in me before the travel blog goes into hiatus. Don't know when I'll get them together... but soon.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Penzance, Newlyn, Mousehole, and the train back to London
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
As I was going to St. Ives
This morning started out foggy and windy (you would think the two would be mutually exclusive, but they were not), so I shelved my original plans to walk the coast path to St. Ives and instead rode along on the train with my parents. It's a 30-40 minute trip on the train, including a change in St. Erth. The trains are little three-car commuter trains, a far cry from the big train that travels to and from London!
In St. Erth we hopped off the train from Penzance—this one was going on to Plymouth—and crossed over to the St. Ives platform, Platform 3.* We had about ten minutes wait for the connecting train. The ride to St. Ives, though, took just another fifteen minutes.
The St. Ives station is about a quarter mile or so outside of town, and you can walk into town on a footpath that follows the coastline. This is the same footpath that turns into the coast path going away from St. Ives.
St. Ives, known as an artists' colony, looks like a painting itself, all pale shades of gold and grey and white. It has a little bit of the exotic—palm trees—and a good dose of tourist attractions, as it is a popular holiday spot, especially in the summer months. In the late winter it has an out-of-season charm, although on this sunny day the streets and sidewalks were hardly deserted.
We wandered along the waterside street, location of numerous restaurants and pubs, pasty and ice cream shops, and probably an arcade or two. I was trying to walk by the bed and breakfast we had stayed in before, but couldn't quite remember where it was. It is always strange when you come back to a place that had been so familiar years ago, and you feel like you should know where things are but can't quite sort it out!
My wanderings led us to the other side of St. Ives, which also looked familiar but slightly confusing. Then we walked right by Bumbles Tea Room, where my mother and I had once had a lovely cream tea. (Of course, that didn't set me straight but it was nice to see it again!) What did help was a sign pointing to “Fore Street.” I wasn't sure what Fore Street was but I suspected it was somewhere we might want to be. We walked in the direction of the arrow, and walked right into a Cath Kidston shop! Cath Kidston is sort of a Laura Ashley for the 21st century—purveyor of lovely patterned fabrics (many of them in candy-coloured stripes and florals) made into all kinds of accessories for the home and kitchen. I went in “just to look” and emerged with a few things...a pair of pajamas, a large stripey “laundry bag” which may very well find a role as an airplane carry-on, and a few other smaller bags which may or may not turn into gifts.
We had now entered shopping nirvana. Strolling up and down the surrounding street, I popped into a couple of clothing stores (yellow floral cotton sundress) and several of the child and baby stores that seemed to be rampant in St. Ives. Shopped out—or at least restrained by some sense of reason—we considered stopping for a Cornish pasty at one of the many pasty shops lining the streets. But my father wasn't interested, so I pulled the plug on St. Ives and hustled them back toward the railway station.
Leaving my parents (with the shopping bags) on the platform waiting for the train, I returned to the coast path and started in the direction of Lelant Saltings, about four miles away. I figured it couldn't be too hard to get to, as the coast path follows the cliff's edge above the seaside, and also tracks the route of the train. But while the train's track is level and mostly straight or gently curving, the coast path undulates up and down hills, and zigs and zags across the landscape. In some spots I could look down onto the golden beaches and sparkling surf; at other times I was surrounded by trees and greenery. The final stretch, shortly before I turned into Lelant, was almost dune-like, with beach grass and sand even high above the water.
About a mile or so from the station I approached Carbis Bay. I have memories (somewhat fond) of Carbis Bay, because five years ago my mother and I walked from St. Ives to Carbis Bay, then rode the train back to St. Ives. There is a long, steep hill from the footpath up to the station, and we only had a few minutes to get up it before the train arrived. My mother would happily have waited for the next train, but trains are few and far between, so I threatened and cajoled her up the hill as fast as we could go. 
When we did get to the top, we almost could not figure out how to get onto the platform, but the train operator told us to take our time, and we made it on without a problem. In retrospect, we could have just stopped at the Carbis Bay Hotel and had tea, but we didn't think of that until later.
On a couple of occasions I did worry whether I was going the right way. Once the path split and I truly did not know which was the right way. I think I actually chose the wrong way, a pathway that accessed waterfront residences rather than the actual coast path, but after a somewhat panicked enquiry to a man in a garden (after the path seemed to end at a rail crossing), I crossed the train tracks and rejoined the actual footpath.
In St. Erth we hopped off the train from Penzance—this one was going on to Plymouth—and crossed over to the St. Ives platform, Platform 3.* We had about ten minutes wait for the connecting train. The ride to St. Ives, though, took just another fifteen minutes.
The St. Ives station is about a quarter mile or so outside of town, and you can walk into town on a footpath that follows the coastline. This is the same footpath that turns into the coast path going away from St. Ives.
St. Ives, known as an artists' colony, looks like a painting itself, all pale shades of gold and grey and white. It has a little bit of the exotic—palm trees—and a good dose of tourist attractions, as it is a popular holiday spot, especially in the summer months. In the late winter it has an out-of-season charm, although on this sunny day the streets and sidewalks were hardly deserted.We wandered along the waterside street, location of numerous restaurants and pubs, pasty and ice cream shops, and probably an arcade or two. I was trying to walk by the bed and breakfast we had stayed in before, but couldn't quite remember where it was. It is always strange when you come back to a place that had been so familiar years ago, and you feel like you should know where things are but can't quite sort it out!
My wanderings led us to the other side of St. Ives, which also looked familiar but slightly confusing. Then we walked right by Bumbles Tea Room, where my mother and I had once had a lovely cream tea. (Of course, that didn't set me straight but it was nice to see it again!) What did help was a sign pointing to “Fore Street.” I wasn't sure what Fore Street was but I suspected it was somewhere we might want to be. We walked in the direction of the arrow, and walked right into a Cath Kidston shop! Cath Kidston is sort of a Laura Ashley for the 21st century—purveyor of lovely patterned fabrics (many of them in candy-coloured stripes and florals) made into all kinds of accessories for the home and kitchen. I went in “just to look” and emerged with a few things...a pair of pajamas, a large stripey “laundry bag” which may very well find a role as an airplane carry-on, and a few other smaller bags which may or may not turn into gifts.
We had now entered shopping nirvana. Strolling up and down the surrounding street, I popped into a couple of clothing stores (yellow floral cotton sundress) and several of the child and baby stores that seemed to be rampant in St. Ives. Shopped out—or at least restrained by some sense of reason—we considered stopping for a Cornish pasty at one of the many pasty shops lining the streets. But my father wasn't interested, so I pulled the plug on St. Ives and hustled them back toward the railway station.
Leaving my parents (with the shopping bags) on the platform waiting for the train, I returned to the coast path and started in the direction of Lelant Saltings, about four miles away. I figured it couldn't be too hard to get to, as the coast path follows the cliff's edge above the seaside, and also tracks the route of the train. But while the train's track is level and mostly straight or gently curving, the coast path undulates up and down hills, and zigs and zags across the landscape. In some spots I could look down onto the golden beaches and sparkling surf; at other times I was surrounded by trees and greenery. The final stretch, shortly before I turned into Lelant, was almost dune-like, with beach grass and sand even high above the water.
About a mile or so from the station I approached Carbis Bay. I have memories (somewhat fond) of Carbis Bay, because five years ago my mother and I walked from St. Ives to Carbis Bay, then rode the train back to St. Ives. There is a long, steep hill from the footpath up to the station, and we only had a few minutes to get up it before the train arrived. My mother would happily have waited for the next train, but trains are few and far between, so I threatened and cajoled her up the hill as fast as we could go. 
When we did get to the top, we almost could not figure out how to get onto the platform, but the train operator told us to take our time, and we made it on without a problem. In retrospect, we could have just stopped at the Carbis Bay Hotel and had tea, but we didn't think of that until later.On a couple of occasions I did worry whether I was going the right way. Once the path split and I truly did not know which was the right way. I think I actually chose the wrong way, a pathway that accessed waterfront residences rather than the actual coast path, but after a somewhat panicked enquiry to a man in a garden (after the path seemed to end at a rail crossing), I crossed the train tracks and rejoined the actual footpath.
In Lelant the path ended, for my purposes anyway, and I walked through town toward the Lelant Saltings Station. There is a Lelant Station, but the train only stops there a couple of times a day, and then only by request, and this wasn't one of those times. At Lelant Station I asked a man in the car park if I just kept on the same road to Lelant Saltings Station, and he said yes, but warned me it was much further than it seemed!
It was about 3:15 at that time, and the train I wanted arrived at 3:35; after that there wouldn't be another train for an hour. I picked up my pace to a brisk walk, hoping that the station wasn't much more than half a mile away, thinking that 3:25 would be a reasonable time to get there.
I walked, and I walked, and I walked. 3:25 arrived, and I was approaching the intersection with a major road. That worried me a bit, as it didn't seem consistent with my map. But at the road I saw the railroad symbol on a street sign, so I knew I was still on the right track, though quickly running out of time. I followed the signs into another road, then into a housing estate, wondering if this could really be right. Spotting a couple of women ahead with a baby carriage, I shouted to them, “where does the train stop?” They pointed in the direction I was going, so I kept on.
Finally I reached the parking lot, crossed it, and climbed up to the platform. I got there at 3:32, with three minutes to spare! Enough time to sit on a bench and take pictures of the train when it approached.
From there it was just a couple of minutes ride to St. Erth, then a ten minute wait for the Penzance train. By a little past 4:00 I was back at the hotel, just over two hours after I left the St. Ives station.
Tomorrow morning we head back to London, on the 10 a.m. train to Paddington.
To see more pictures of St. Ives and the coast path, click here.
*Five years ago we had the hardest time figuring out which platform was for the train to St. Ives. Now it seems ridiculously well marked. I don't know if we were just blind and stupid back then, or whether they've improved the signage!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A Sunny Day in Penzance
After I finished breakfast this morning and while I was still sitting in the dining room using my laptop, Ben (assistant manager and breakfast cook) mentioned the sunny day we were having, saying “it is hot out there!” I had already been out running, and though it was bright and sunny and pleasant for running, I hadn't especially noticed it was what I would call “hot.” (And I'm from a part of the U.S. where people break out their shorts—cargo shorts of course—when the temperature breaks 50º!)But I took note of his comment and my own observations, and when my mother and I headed out around 11:00, instead of a warm coat I put on a khaki jacket. And brought my sunglasses, of course.
The sunglasses came into use almost immediately, for it was quite bright out. We followed the streets around the hotel (into a very uninteresting area that my mother called “a total waste of time,” primarily because it required walking up a longish hill to get back to the main streets). We did emerge into one of the primary town streets, however, the politically incorrectly named Market Jew Street, and walked up it into Causeway Head, another main shopping street. We weren't shopping, really, so instead of stopping we just strolled along, taking special interest in the windows of various bakeries, all of which exuded the tantalizing smell of freshly baked Cornish pasties and other savoury treats (as well as your typical bakery goods, including a plethora of hot cross buns and other yeast buns).
On the way back down we succumbed to one such shop, and decided to get Cornish pasties* for our lunch (it was noon by then). Cornish pasties, if anyone is not already familiar with them, are essentially turnovers, filled either with a traditional steak and potato filling, or variations such as chicken, cheese and onion, etc. There were a number of different options at this shop (as well as other pastry wrapped goodies, like sausage rolls), but I didn't look much further than the steak pasty. We each got a “cocktail-sized” pasty, which is not nearly as tiny as it sounds (I would consider cocktail-size to be the size of a potsticker). This is what I would call “small,” about four inches wide, I would guess. The “small” size is at least medium in my book, “medium” is quite large, and “large” would probably feed a family of four.**
We sat on a sunny bench to eat our pasties (after standing around for a few minutes glaring at the couple who had dared to sit on the bench before we got to it). Eventually they had to leave. Perhaps they felt uncomfortable being stared at....
The one disadvantage to the cocktail-sized pasty is that there was a plethora of potato in the filling and only a couple bits of steak. Well, nobody ever called Cornish pasties—or English food in general—low carb!
After our snack—er, lunch—I wanted to take my mother down to the Promenade where I had run earlier, to walk along the seaside. On the way, however, we spotted a sign saying “to the gardens.” I had to follow, and it led us to Morrab Gardens, described as a “subtropical garden”—whatever subtropical means. There were palm trees, but also rhododendrons and camellias growing happily. We walked around the outside path and then into the inside path, stopping at least once to sit on a bench in the sun.
We were not the only people flocking to the park on a sunny day. We passed several occupied benches before we found ours, and in the inner garden there were mothers and children playing, and even a few brave souls sitting on the grass—which still had to be a bit cold and damp at this time of day! I did not, however, see anyone wearing shorts.
Leaving the park, we continued onward to the Promenade. Despite the sun, it was not hot out, and in the shade it was rather cool. In the wind it was downright chilly! And there were some decent wind gusts out on the Promenade. Still, we walked the length of the Promenade to the end of town, then turned back. As we turned, we noted that the wind had been at our backs on the way out, and now we were walking right into it on the return. Not great for hairstyles.***
One of the views from the Promenade was back toward the Jubilee Pool, a public saltwater bathing pool in Penzance. I loved its Art Deco gate and the old fashioned name "bathing pool." In this long distance picture, you can also see St. Michael's Mount at the right, a small island now owned by the National Trust, home to a medieval castle and gardens.
Back in Chapel Street I pointed my mother down Abbey Road toward the hotel and continued back into the center of town to shop for our next meal. Yes, soon it would be tea time and treats would be called for. I had noticed in our early shopping that yeast buns were prolific and scones were scarce around Penzance, which seems odd as Cornwall is famous for clotted cream. The bakery we had stopped in earlier had packaged scones, which would have to do. They also had... Battenburg Cake.
I popped into a Co-op Food store to procure clotted cream. It was a beautiful sight, stacks of Rodda clotted cream, in several sizes. It was enough to inspire all kinds of gluttony. But I did, as a cautionary measure, study the nutrition information before I went truly crazy. About 500 calories per 100 grams.**** A generous serving for tea is about 50 grams. You could definitely use less, but I was being realistic. It's definitely not diet food, and a better person than me would shun it by a mile.
(I'm not that person.)
So I brought back the goodies, made a pot of tea, and my mother and I had a homey tea party in our sitting room, while watching Murder She Wrote (my mother's choice) on TV. Just another afternoon in England.
My father was out on the train and didn't make it back for tea. We had expected him early, so this caused a bit of alarm, but he finally appeared at 5:30 and said that he had gone to the loo. No, wait, he had gone to Looe on the train. This required a change of trains so took longer than a simple out and back journey.
Instead of trying to go out to dinner—none of were interested in that—I went back out and up the street to pick up takeaway fish and chips. A mountain of chips topped by a whale of a deep fried fish filet—just what I need. Back into the running shoes....*****
Incidentally, I only realized it was St. Patrick's Day today when I logged into Google and saw their shamrock-strewn logo. Throughout the day, I barely saw another reminder. In contrast, five years ago we happened to be in Penzance on St. Patrick's Day, and although it was hardly a wild scene, we did see people walking around the streets wearing tall Guinness hats that looked like the Cat in the Hat's hat, except Guinness colours. They got them by purchasing a certain number of Guinnesses in the pubs. Drinking the Guinness was not required, but I'm sure most did not throw it away! This year is much more toned down. There is an effort to curb binge-drinking in England, and that probably has put a perhaps much-needed damper on St. Paddy's Day celebrations.
For more of today's pictures, you can click here.
*Pronounced with a short “a,” like the crust.
**I may exaggerate just a bit... it's probably growing in my mind by the minute. But definitely big enough for two or three people.
***Hairstyle? I have used that curling iron I bought at Boots exactly one time, and that time was not today.
****Equivalent to a 4.5 mile run. Nice.
*****That was just for effect, as I'm not planning to run tomorrow. I'm hoping to walk the coastal path near St. Ives, if all goes well. Right now the wind is whipping around like a—um—really strong, noisy wind. But the guy in the fish shop said it is supposed to be nice the rest of the week until the weekend. So we shall see.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The long, long road to Penzance
We left Bath early this morning to head south to Penzance. In what most would consider a ridiculous plan, we took the train back to London and then caught the 12:06 to Penzance. The rationale was that it would be easier than taking a train from Bath to Penzance, as all the routes appeared to involve two train changes. With our many bags, we didn't fancy any more train changes than absolutely necessary. With our railpasses, there was no extra cost involved. However, it made for a long day, with an hour and a half on the train from Bath to London, an hour and a half waiting at Paddington Station, then a five-hour trip to Penzance—literally, a full day's travel!
The wait at Paddington wasn't quite as tedious as I expected. With a number of shops, food venues, and even a Starbucks, Paddington Station is a little city unto itself. I amused myself by getting a latte at Starbucks, then picking out sandwiches at the Marks & Spencer food shop to take on the train for our lunch. (Someday I am going to write an entire post on the vast, delicious variety of ready-made sandwiches for sale in England!)
Fortunately, we had made advance seat reservations for the train, as even the first class carriages were fuller than I had seen them. We were able to claim a full four-seat section (three of which were our reserved seats), and my father wandered to the next carriage where he found an unoccupied seat block for himself (we all like to have our space).
The train trip from London to Penzance is quite scenic, through countryside as well as along water. We entertained ourselves by alternating between reading, watching the view, napping, eating our sandwiches, and scoring free diet coke and water from the buffet cart.
Penzance is a seaside town, with a picturesque harbor and steep cobbled streets. Our hotel, the Abbey Hotel, is tucked into one of those streets about the harbor (Abbey Street) and may possibly be a former abbey—at least it has some very churchy-shaped windows! It's now painted a bright Wedgwood blue on the outside and decorated in other vibrant tones. The owner is former '60's model Jean Shrimpton, but her son manages it (so we learned from the chatty assistant manager, Ben).
It's just reopened this month after being closed for renovations. We're staying in “the Suite,” an apartment with an entrance separate from the main hotel building. We have two double bedrooms, a large bathroom, and a very large sitting room with a down-filled sofa and chairs, a big wooden dining table,and a spectacular harbor view. Plus, satellite or cable TV (whatever it takes to get more than four channels). Of course all those channels are hardly a benefit when I have no idea what is on. I've been doing a little channel flipping and have yet to get exceptionally excited—sort of like the channels at home. Hey! I just found Friends! (Also like the channels at home.)
We went to dinner at a rather nice restaurant called the Bakehouse. At first I was very dubious (some might say pissy) because the décor was too nice and the menu seemed too fussy for my taste (my travel taste, which tends to cheap and simple, at least in England). But we stuck it out and I must say the result was a pleasant surprise. They had an early bird menu, from which you can choose either a starter and entree, or entree and pudding (dessert) for a set price of £12. The entree selections were a bit too creamy and carby for my taste, but I settled on smoked mackerel fillets with salad and mustard mash (mashed potatoes, yes, but it's a set menu—what can you do?). And it was really good. Very generous portions, two large pieces of smoky fish and a good-sized scoop of tangy potatoes.
Then we all had dessert as our second course. I am somewhat ashamed to say (considering my criticism of the creamy entrees) that I ordered the ice cream topped with clotted cream. I must add, however, that the meringue with berries and cream that my mother ordered had a much larger dollop of clotted cream on it! (My dad also had the ice cream.) Both puddings were quite delicious.
I'm surprisingly tired for a day in which I did little more than sit on a train. Tired, and kind of full of clotted cream. Once again, the wireless signal is not strong enough to receive in our room, so I am sitting on a chair across from the reception desk, in the rather drafty entry hall to the hotel, not having bothered to bring a coat! The sacrifices I make! I am counting the moments till I am back to our cozy sitting room (and, er, the TV....).
I am too tired to post any more pictures here, but you can see some scenery pictures taken from the train, and some pictures of our hotel "suite," by clicking here.
The wait at Paddington wasn't quite as tedious as I expected. With a number of shops, food venues, and even a Starbucks, Paddington Station is a little city unto itself. I amused myself by getting a latte at Starbucks, then picking out sandwiches at the Marks & Spencer food shop to take on the train for our lunch. (Someday I am going to write an entire post on the vast, delicious variety of ready-made sandwiches for sale in England!)
Fortunately, we had made advance seat reservations for the train, as even the first class carriages were fuller than I had seen them. We were able to claim a full four-seat section (three of which were our reserved seats), and my father wandered to the next carriage where he found an unoccupied seat block for himself (we all like to have our space).The train trip from London to Penzance is quite scenic, through countryside as well as along water. We entertained ourselves by alternating between reading, watching the view, napping, eating our sandwiches, and scoring free diet coke and water from the buffet cart.
Penzance is a seaside town, with a picturesque harbor and steep cobbled streets. Our hotel, the Abbey Hotel, is tucked into one of those streets about the harbor (Abbey Street) and may possibly be a former abbey—at least it has some very churchy-shaped windows! It's now painted a bright Wedgwood blue on the outside and decorated in other vibrant tones. The owner is former '60's model Jean Shrimpton, but her son manages it (so we learned from the chatty assistant manager, Ben).It's just reopened this month after being closed for renovations. We're staying in “the Suite,” an apartment with an entrance separate from the main hotel building. We have two double bedrooms, a large bathroom, and a very large sitting room with a down-filled sofa and chairs, a big wooden dining table,and a spectacular harbor view. Plus, satellite or cable TV (whatever it takes to get more than four channels). Of course all those channels are hardly a benefit when I have no idea what is on. I've been doing a little channel flipping and have yet to get exceptionally excited—sort of like the channels at home. Hey! I just found Friends! (Also like the channels at home.)
We went to dinner at a rather nice restaurant called the Bakehouse. At first I was very dubious (some might say pissy) because the décor was too nice and the menu seemed too fussy for my taste (my travel taste, which tends to cheap and simple, at least in England). But we stuck it out and I must say the result was a pleasant surprise. They had an early bird menu, from which you can choose either a starter and entree, or entree and pudding (dessert) for a set price of £12. The entree selections were a bit too creamy and carby for my taste, but I settled on smoked mackerel fillets with salad and mustard mash (mashed potatoes, yes, but it's a set menu—what can you do?). And it was really good. Very generous portions, two large pieces of smoky fish and a good-sized scoop of tangy potatoes.
Then we all had dessert as our second course. I am somewhat ashamed to say (considering my criticism of the creamy entrees) that I ordered the ice cream topped with clotted cream. I must add, however, that the meringue with berries and cream that my mother ordered had a much larger dollop of clotted cream on it! (My dad also had the ice cream.) Both puddings were quite delicious.
I'm surprisingly tired for a day in which I did little more than sit on a train. Tired, and kind of full of clotted cream. Once again, the wireless signal is not strong enough to receive in our room, so I am sitting on a chair across from the reception desk, in the rather drafty entry hall to the hotel, not having bothered to bring a coat! The sacrifices I make! I am counting the moments till I am back to our cozy sitting room (and, er, the TV....).
I am too tired to post any more pictures here, but you can see some scenery pictures taken from the train, and some pictures of our hotel "suite," by clicking here.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Today was the Bath Half Marathon (in case you hadn't heard)
The entire day today was devoted to the Half Marathon in Bath. Not just my day—though it was, for sure—but everyone, everything, and everywhere in central Bath was somehow occupied with the race from early this morning until about 3:30 in the afternoon.
The run was supposed to start at 11 am, but at about 10:00 there was an announcement in the starting area that there would be a 30 minute delay, as the police were not done clearing the streets, and so in fact the race would now start at 11:30. This was probably a tremendous relief to the people standing in the porta-potty lines. Not so much for those who had already taken their turn and had to wait a half hour more than expected to start running.*
In my trips to and from the two Starbucks, and trying to do a warm-up run around the nearby streets, everywhere I looked I saw people in running clothes and race bibs, sometimes accompanied by friends dressed in street clothes. The few genuine tourists around, some trailing their rolling suitcases behind them, unaffiliated with runners, probably felt rather bewildered by the mobs surrrounding them on an otherwise unspectacular Sunday morning in Bath.
15,000 people had registered for this run, and by 11:15 they were all congregated in the area around the Pulteney Street start line.
In addition to the 15,000 runners, there appeared to be that many and more people lining the streets of Bath to watch and cheer the runners. Much of the way, and particularly in the the in-town portions of the run, spectators were lined several deep, packing the sidewalks. Even in the most remote portions of the run, which would be the outer parts of the loop at about four miles and nine miles, people were scattered along the road clapping and cheering as we ran by.
The route was configured so that we essential ran the whole thing twice. From the start in Pulteney Street, we followed Pulteney Road then veered into the city center just west of the railway station. We ran around Queen Square (three sides) then west along Upper Bristol Road until it joined with Lower Bristol Road, turning and following Lower Bristol Road back toward town there. Shortly past the 10K point we turned back into the city center, then repeated the Queen Square, Upper and Lower Bristol Road portions. Finally, we stayed on Pulteney Road all the way back to the finish line (same as the start).
After crossing the finish line all the runners were herded along toward a rugby field which is below the Parade Gardens on the river (I think this is the location, I just followed the mob). It took more than half an hour from the time I crossed the finish to make my way out to the street, where I had a very quick walk over to the Abbey Courtyard to meet my parents.
I had told them I would meet them at 2:00. I must have been somewhat prescient, because although I got there at 2:30, when you consider the half hour delayed start, I was right on schedule. Even over by the Abbey, at least every other person I saw was a runner, now wearing a finisher's medal around his or her neck!
My parents were waiting, as directed, on a bench outside the Tourist Information Centre, in the shadow of Bath Abbey.** As a post-race treat, I bought us each an ice cream cone.
After that, all we really wanted to do was go back to the hotel. We headed back toward the railway station, because that was the direction of the hotel. Either we could catch a taxi or start walking uphill from there. The roads which had been closed to traffic were open again now, and apparently everyone in Bath was ready to go somewhere in a taxi. Waiting in line did not seem appealing. (Of course, if you ask my mother, walking up the hill was not in the least appealing either.)
Earlier in the morning I had measured the walking distance from the hotel to the railway station and found it was "only" about 1.1 miles. "Only" 1.1 miles is one thing walking downhill, but quite another going uphill! Still, we plugged along up the hill and actually, my legs didn't feel too bad while I was walking. It was just every time I stopped for a while that they got stiff!
I returned to the hotel a bit past 4:00 and, truly, the whole day had revolved around the half marathon. The only thing left to do was take a shower and head back down to the Bear pub (half a mile from the hotel, per this morning's measurements) for dinner.
Some other pictures from the half-marathon—mostly of other people running, as my parents never managed to spot me—can be viewed here.
*Ninety minutes? That would definitely call for at least one additional potty stop before the start. I personally went four times between 10 and 11 a.m. (it's a running thing, not a bladder infection), each time at Starbucks, with a wait of no more than four persons ahead of me each time. No porta-potties for me! (I noted that every time I passed the large banks of porta-potties, they had very, very long lines.)
**That is a figurative expression. The sun was still out and there was no shadow in our direction.
The run was supposed to start at 11 am, but at about 10:00 there was an announcement in the starting area that there would be a 30 minute delay, as the police were not done clearing the streets, and so in fact the race would now start at 11:30. This was probably a tremendous relief to the people standing in the porta-potty lines. Not so much for those who had already taken their turn and had to wait a half hour more than expected to start running.*
In my trips to and from the two Starbucks, and trying to do a warm-up run around the nearby streets, everywhere I looked I saw people in running clothes and race bibs, sometimes accompanied by friends dressed in street clothes. The few genuine tourists around, some trailing their rolling suitcases behind them, unaffiliated with runners, probably felt rather bewildered by the mobs surrrounding them on an otherwise unspectacular Sunday morning in Bath.
15,000 people had registered for this run, and by 11:15 they were all congregated in the area around the Pulteney Street start line.
In addition to the 15,000 runners, there appeared to be that many and more people lining the streets of Bath to watch and cheer the runners. Much of the way, and particularly in the the in-town portions of the run, spectators were lined several deep, packing the sidewalks. Even in the most remote portions of the run, which would be the outer parts of the loop at about four miles and nine miles, people were scattered along the road clapping and cheering as we ran by.
The route was configured so that we essential ran the whole thing twice. From the start in Pulteney Street, we followed Pulteney Road then veered into the city center just west of the railway station. We ran around Queen Square (three sides) then west along Upper Bristol Road until it joined with Lower Bristol Road, turning and following Lower Bristol Road back toward town there. Shortly past the 10K point we turned back into the city center, then repeated the Queen Square, Upper and Lower Bristol Road portions. Finally, we stayed on Pulteney Road all the way back to the finish line (same as the start).
After crossing the finish line all the runners were herded along toward a rugby field which is below the Parade Gardens on the river (I think this is the location, I just followed the mob). It took more than half an hour from the time I crossed the finish to make my way out to the street, where I had a very quick walk over to the Abbey Courtyard to meet my parents.
I had told them I would meet them at 2:00. I must have been somewhat prescient, because although I got there at 2:30, when you consider the half hour delayed start, I was right on schedule. Even over by the Abbey, at least every other person I saw was a runner, now wearing a finisher's medal around his or her neck!My parents were waiting, as directed, on a bench outside the Tourist Information Centre, in the shadow of Bath Abbey.** As a post-race treat, I bought us each an ice cream cone.
After that, all we really wanted to do was go back to the hotel. We headed back toward the railway station, because that was the direction of the hotel. Either we could catch a taxi or start walking uphill from there. The roads which had been closed to traffic were open again now, and apparently everyone in Bath was ready to go somewhere in a taxi. Waiting in line did not seem appealing. (Of course, if you ask my mother, walking up the hill was not in the least appealing either.)
Earlier in the morning I had measured the walking distance from the hotel to the railway station and found it was "only" about 1.1 miles. "Only" 1.1 miles is one thing walking downhill, but quite another going uphill! Still, we plugged along up the hill and actually, my legs didn't feel too bad while I was walking. It was just every time I stopped for a while that they got stiff!
I returned to the hotel a bit past 4:00 and, truly, the whole day had revolved around the half marathon. The only thing left to do was take a shower and head back down to the Bear pub (half a mile from the hotel, per this morning's measurements) for dinner.
Some other pictures from the half-marathon—mostly of other people running, as my parents never managed to spot me—can be viewed here.
*Ninety minutes? That would definitely call for at least one additional potty stop before the start. I personally went four times between 10 and 11 a.m. (it's a running thing, not a bladder infection), each time at Starbucks, with a wait of no more than four persons ahead of me each time. No porta-potties for me! (I noted that every time I passed the large banks of porta-potties, they had very, very long lines.)
**That is a figurative expression. The sun was still out and there was no shadow in our direction.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I really don't like other people
I know that sounds bad. If that were completely true, I would be a misanthrope. (I wanted to throw that word out there because I spent some effort finding it.)
There are a lot of people I do like—my friends, family (most of the time), the people I work with and see at work—that makes dozens, maybe hundred(s) of people who don't drive me crazy (or who I am willing to tolerate even when they do). I am willing to consider that there are people out there who I don't know, but might meet in future, that I will also like. So no, I do not hate all humankind.
However, I do hate people en masse. In crowds. In airplanes and train carriages and department stores with sales. And most of all, in my pictures!*
My entire objective in travel photography is to take pictures of sights populated with absolutely no extraneous people. No crowds massing around a fountain or heads bobbing in front of a cathedral or, worst of all, bystanders in a garden scene.** I know it's unnatural, but I prefer my pictures to look like postcards.
I think I wouldn't mind having people in my photos if people weren't generally so unattractive. Really, there are some amazing ugly people walking around in the world. Especially in foreign countries. Especially in tourist locations.*** Or in London, generally.
Let me fine tune this a little more. I have forced myself to tolerate people, even crowds, in the background of my photos. I really have no control over that, although I have minimized it by traveling when others choose not to, e.g. during the foot and mouth scare in England (early summer 2001), right after 9/11 (autumn 2001), at the peak of the unfavorable pound/dollar exchange rate (2006 & 2007) and during a major recession when nobody can afford to travel despite a vastly improved exchange rate (right now).
Sometimes, dare I say, a few people in the distant background even add to the ambience of a picture. I am thinking fondly of a favorite picture from Barnsley House and Garden in 2001, when the garden was still owned by the Rosemary Verey family and was open to the public, where the other visitors strolling about gave the impression of a garden party.
No, it's the odd person or pair who walks right into the middle of your carefully composed shot just at the moment everyone else has cleared away, who makes me want to tear out my hair by the roots. At Piccadilly Circus the other day, a man was just standing idly in front of my mother while she was clearly pointing the camera in my direction. Today, while I was taking a picture at Sally Lunn's (and clearing that space was a task, everyone wanted to go in to eat), a bald man persisted in standing in front of the otherwise deserted shop window, studying the menu, if you can imagine that! The absolute nerve of him!
You can, if you would like, have a look at my pictures from Bath today. There aren't too many, not so much because of the people around, but because I have been to Bath so many times I have less of a compulsion to take pictures here.
While I am confessing my anti-social tendencies, I will also admit that I like riding in first class on the train because, in addition to the nicer seats and free refreshments, there are very few people and no children in the first class carriages. Much calmer and quieter! And, although I enjoyed sitting with my laptop in the pub this afternoon, I was happy to leave in the evening when it became crowded and noisy, and retreat to our peaceful B&B. I am, I confess, an unapologetic introvert!****
To read today's running post, click here.
*Excluding people who I choose to put in my pictures.
**My temper tantrum while trying to photograph the Queen's Rose Garden at Sudeley Castle in 2001 is legendary. Well, I remember it well. But I was patient and eventually I got some beautiful shots sans people!
***I know I'm not one to talk. On this trip I have been devoting all of 20 minutes to getting ready in the morning, have basically abandoned my hair altogether (although I did buy a curling iron at Boots today), and spend all my time in either an LL Bean Gortex or Polartec jacket, depending on the temperature. I'm sure no one's exactly excited to see me wandering through their view finders!
****I might add, I talk to tons of people every day at work. That probably also contributes to my joy in solitude.
There are a lot of people I do like—my friends, family (most of the time), the people I work with and see at work—that makes dozens, maybe hundred(s) of people who don't drive me crazy (or who I am willing to tolerate even when they do). I am willing to consider that there are people out there who I don't know, but might meet in future, that I will also like. So no, I do not hate all humankind.
However, I do hate people en masse. In crowds. In airplanes and train carriages and department stores with sales. And most of all, in my pictures!*
My entire objective in travel photography is to take pictures of sights populated with absolutely no extraneous people. No crowds massing around a fountain or heads bobbing in front of a cathedral or, worst of all, bystanders in a garden scene.** I know it's unnatural, but I prefer my pictures to look like postcards.
I think I wouldn't mind having people in my photos if people weren't generally so unattractive. Really, there are some amazing ugly people walking around in the world. Especially in foreign countries. Especially in tourist locations.*** Or in London, generally.
Let me fine tune this a little more. I have forced myself to tolerate people, even crowds, in the background of my photos. I really have no control over that, although I have minimized it by traveling when others choose not to, e.g. during the foot and mouth scare in England (early summer 2001), right after 9/11 (autumn 2001), at the peak of the unfavorable pound/dollar exchange rate (2006 & 2007) and during a major recession when nobody can afford to travel despite a vastly improved exchange rate (right now).
Sometimes, dare I say, a few people in the distant background even add to the ambience of a picture. I am thinking fondly of a favorite picture from Barnsley House and Garden in 2001, when the garden was still owned by the Rosemary Verey family and was open to the public, where the other visitors strolling about gave the impression of a garden party.
No, it's the odd person or pair who walks right into the middle of your carefully composed shot just at the moment everyone else has cleared away, who makes me want to tear out my hair by the roots. At Piccadilly Circus the other day, a man was just standing idly in front of my mother while she was clearly pointing the camera in my direction. Today, while I was taking a picture at Sally Lunn's (and clearing that space was a task, everyone wanted to go in to eat), a bald man persisted in standing in front of the otherwise deserted shop window, studying the menu, if you can imagine that! The absolute nerve of him!
You can, if you would like, have a look at my pictures from Bath today. There aren't too many, not so much because of the people around, but because I have been to Bath so many times I have less of a compulsion to take pictures here.
While I am confessing my anti-social tendencies, I will also admit that I like riding in first class on the train because, in addition to the nicer seats and free refreshments, there are very few people and no children in the first class carriages. Much calmer and quieter! And, although I enjoyed sitting with my laptop in the pub this afternoon, I was happy to leave in the evening when it became crowded and noisy, and retreat to our peaceful B&B. I am, I confess, an unapologetic introvert!****
To read today's running post, click here.
*Excluding people who I choose to put in my pictures.
**My temper tantrum while trying to photograph the Queen's Rose Garden at Sudeley Castle in 2001 is legendary. Well, I remember it well. But I was patient and eventually I got some beautiful shots sans people!
***I know I'm not one to talk. On this trip I have been devoting all of 20 minutes to getting ready in the morning, have basically abandoned my hair altogether (although I did buy a curling iron at Boots today), and spend all my time in either an LL Bean Gortex or Polartec jacket, depending on the temperature. I'm sure no one's exactly excited to see me wandering through their view finders!
****I might add, I talk to tons of people every day at work. That probably also contributes to my joy in solitude.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Goodbye London, Hello Bath
In a few hours we will be leaving London and catching the train to Bath (from Paddington Station). Then, two days from now, the Half Marathon! The course description promises "flat," although the detailed description makes references like "climbs gently (but remorselessly)." So we shall see.
I forwent (is that the proper past tense of forgo?) running this morning to give my legs a chance to rest up for the long run on Sunday. For the last couple of days my quads have been rather achy, don't know why exactly, and my ankle and achilles tendon have been quite tender. In fact, yesterday when my mother and I were walking and stopped to rest, I tried rubbing the back of my leg and it was sore to the touch. I was limping a little too, but luckily (though mysteriously) that doesn't seem to transfer into running.
This morning my legs feel fine, though, and my ankle is barely sore at all. That's actually kind of unusual for London. The last time I was here I remember my whole body aching in the morning when I got up to run, thanks to all the pavement pounding during the day. Maybe we've been taking it a little easy so far. (Day on the train, anyone?)
I had intended to walk to Regent's Park with my dad before breakfast today, but before we even got to Euston he tripped and fell off a kerb and scratched up his hands and face. I insisted that we return to the hotel, where he got ice and bandaids ("plasters") from the hotel staff. Other than an incipient black eye, he seems to be okay, luckily.
But the lack of exercise did not prevent me from eating a large, rather carb-laden breakfast. I have taken to heart the advice from a recent Bath Half newsletter:
I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Not much I can do now! Other than avoid injury myself and refrain from eating foods that could bring on intestinal stress, or distress, on Sunday. So yesterday's foray into clotted cream, and, er, fish & chips for dinner, was a one-off. At least until after Sunday.
I don't know what my internet access will be like in Bath and Penzance over the next week. I hope to have it. But if not, the blog will be silent for a few days. Then I will be back as soon as I can with the race results!
I forwent (is that the proper past tense of forgo?) running this morning to give my legs a chance to rest up for the long run on Sunday. For the last couple of days my quads have been rather achy, don't know why exactly, and my ankle and achilles tendon have been quite tender. In fact, yesterday when my mother and I were walking and stopped to rest, I tried rubbing the back of my leg and it was sore to the touch. I was limping a little too, but luckily (though mysteriously) that doesn't seem to transfer into running.
This morning my legs feel fine, though, and my ankle is barely sore at all. That's actually kind of unusual for London. The last time I was here I remember my whole body aching in the morning when I got up to run, thanks to all the pavement pounding during the day. Maybe we've been taking it a little easy so far. (Day on the train, anyone?)
I had intended to walk to Regent's Park with my dad before breakfast today, but before we even got to Euston he tripped and fell off a kerb and scratched up his hands and face. I insisted that we return to the hotel, where he got ice and bandaids ("plasters") from the hotel staff. Other than an incipient black eye, he seems to be okay, luckily.
But the lack of exercise did not prevent me from eating a large, rather carb-laden breakfast. I have taken to heart the advice from a recent Bath Half newsletter:
- As you begin to taper your training you should also gradually increase your carbohydrate intake. Foods such as potatoes, rice, pasta, bread, bananas, jelly sweets and Lucozade Sport are all high in carbohydrate and low in fat.
I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Not much I can do now! Other than avoid injury myself and refrain from eating foods that could bring on intestinal stress, or distress, on Sunday. So yesterday's foray into clotted cream, and, er, fish & chips for dinner, was a one-off. At least until after Sunday.
I don't know what my internet access will be like in Bath and Penzance over the next week. I hope to have it. But if not, the blog will be silent for a few days. Then I will be back as soon as I can with the race results!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
One day in London
What do you do when you have only one full day in London?
It helps if shopping is not a priority. Many of my pasts days in London were occupied with hitting one shopping venue after the next. It was fun, if exhausting, but now I have all that stuff and don't need much more. (Don't need some of that, either.) Plus, it's Thursday, and if I wanted to go to, say, antiques markets, I would be out of luck, because Thursday is not a good day for the markets.
I ran in Regent's Park before breakfast. Not quite as early as planned, and as I stopped frequently to take pictures, I didn't get back to the hotel until almost 8:30. Breakfast closes at 9. You can believe that my mother was pissed. But I put on a burst of speed and was showered, dressed, hair-dried and in the breakfast room by 8:45.
But somehow the energy that took me out running and got me ready in record time dissipated over the meal, and by the time we left the breakfast room and I checked email, both of us needed just a little bit of a rest before heading out. So we retired to our rooms to recline just a bit until the room cleaners kicked us out.
I didn't have a set schedule, or any plan at all, so it wasn't a problem that we didn't even leave the hotel until after 11. We walked down the street to the Russell Square Station and hopped on the tube to Piccadilly Circus. That's always a good place to start.
When we emerged from the Underground into Piccadilly Circus, I was startled at the lack of crowds. I don't remember ever being in Piccadilly Circus when it wasn't swarming with people. Was it the recession keeping people away? Or simply that it is March, pre-spring break, and my last visit was in June, always a busier time? We walked around the Eros statue, taking a few pictures. Of course, it is never so deserted that someone doesn't walk into or interfere with your picture-taking!
As I was taking a picture down Piccadilly (the street), a young man asked me if I would take a picture of him and his friend. I figured that they must have figured I was a safe bet not to take off with their camera.* They stood in front of the Eros statue (how sweet) and I took one horizontal and one vertical shot, hoping that at least one would be frame-worthy.
As I returned the camera, the young man asked, rather formally, if he could return the favor. I considered just a brief moment, then called my mother to come for a picture. I handed our camera over, thinking briefly that this could be the best scam ever (ask someone to take your picture with your nice looking camera, then offer to take one with theirs and run off with it instead). He did not run off, and now we have quite a nice photo of my mother and me in front of Eros.
From Piccadilly we headed down Haymarket, as this is the best way I know to get over to Trafalgar Square. A look at the National Gallery is mandatory. Going inside is optional.**
Once again, I felt like the crowds were curiously lacking. But maybe it was just early in the day.
This was now turning into a walking tour of favorite London sights. I opted not to head down the Mall to Buckingham Palace, but instead turned down Whitehall towards Westminster, Big Ben, and the Thames. My mother, who was still tired, started getting a little grumbly about the wandering with no apparent destination. She kept trying to pin me down over where we were going. My answers—we are going towards Big Ben, we are going along Embankment—were curiously unsatisfactory to her. But she followed. What else could she do?
I did have a bit of a plan. I thought we could walk along the river approximately to Waterloo Bridge, then cut back into the Strand. Before getting quite that far we walked into the Embankment and Victoria Gardens, and paused to sit on a bench for a few moments.
We were just about at the Jubilee Bridge, a walking bridge that crosses the river on either side of the Hungerford Railway Bridge, and my mother abandoned her recalcitrance and agreed to walk onto the bridge to get some good photo ops.*** We took numerous pictures of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben; the London Eye; me; and various combinations of the above. We were seeking the perfect picture. While we may not have accomplished that, my mother liked this windswept one of me.
Despite my intentions, we were unable to get to the Strand from the Embankment near Waterloo Bridge (you have to actually be on the bridge), so we kept going, looking for an escape route. It came at Somerset House, where we entered one of the buildings at the Embankment level and was able to take a lift up to the Strand level. This was a part of Somerset House I had not been in, housing a design center and some other things. We left quickly, not wanting to feel obligated to make a donation, and crossed the courtyard and passed the Cortauld Institute to get back to the street.
By that point we were both ready for a break, which would mean a place to sit and have a little something. So we hopped on a bus that was headed toward Piccadilly Circus (as most buses going down the Strand are). It's really only a short distance, but with all the stops and delays, it was a rather long bus ride.
I wasn't sure where to go, but walking down Piccadilly seemed like a good plan. After a quick visit to Waterstone's (and the purchase of three books), we came to Fortnum and Mason, always a favorite stop. The last time we were there they were undergoing renovation, but now it was all complete and the store was restored to the heights of elegance.
Once of the new additions to F&M is a cafe called the Parlour on the first floor. It specialized in ice cream treats (as in "ice cream parlour," get it?) but also has other light foods, tea, and most importantly, scones and clotted cream.
We decided to each have an open-face smoked chicken sandwich (for nourishment) and to split an order of scones. When the scones arrived they were quite petite—a little smaller than I'd expected, to be truthful—but they came with an amazingly ginormous scoop of the most luscious yellow clotted cream. It was thick, heavy, sticky and the very essence of creamy, and every bit of it went on those little scones. I regret nothing!
After the scones and cream we did a little shopping in the new and improved F&M (okay, I am not completely cured of shopping). We were entranced by some appliqued tea cosies (and egg cup cosies) and I skulked around taking pictures with my camera phone.**** We had some idea of making our own versions for gifts at home. We shall see.... In the meantime, we bought "samples" to bring home. Down on the ground floor I also bought a bunch of miniature tins of tea, to use in gift bags for the various tea parties I am committed to putting on this spring. And some silver dragees, just because they're beautiful. But that was all.
And that was certainly enough to make a day. We walked the remaining blocks to Green Park Station, past the Ritz Hotel,***** and rode the tube back to our rather less ritzy but welcoming hotel.
For a little more of our day, check out the pictures here.
*Little did they know I am a runner! Oh, who am I kidding. They were both young and slender, they would have caught me in a minute.
**They do have very nice public restrooms, though, should the need arise. And as the National Gallery is free, and a sight to be seen even without the displays, a visit inside is worth your while if you have the time and the inclination.
***She also discovered the elevator which carried us up and down to the bridge and street. I didn't object. My legs were curiously tired and my ankle and achilles tendon were quite tender today.
****I can't download them until I get home, however.
*****And past Richoux and Patisserie Valerie, two other places we could go for tea in future if we were looking for somewhere to go that wasn't a hotel or a department store.
It helps if shopping is not a priority. Many of my pasts days in London were occupied with hitting one shopping venue after the next. It was fun, if exhausting, but now I have all that stuff and don't need much more. (Don't need some of that, either.) Plus, it's Thursday, and if I wanted to go to, say, antiques markets, I would be out of luck, because Thursday is not a good day for the markets.
I ran in Regent's Park before breakfast. Not quite as early as planned, and as I stopped frequently to take pictures, I didn't get back to the hotel until almost 8:30. Breakfast closes at 9. You can believe that my mother was pissed. But I put on a burst of speed and was showered, dressed, hair-dried and in the breakfast room by 8:45.
But somehow the energy that took me out running and got me ready in record time dissipated over the meal, and by the time we left the breakfast room and I checked email, both of us needed just a little bit of a rest before heading out. So we retired to our rooms to recline just a bit until the room cleaners kicked us out.
I didn't have a set schedule, or any plan at all, so it wasn't a problem that we didn't even leave the hotel until after 11. We walked down the street to the Russell Square Station and hopped on the tube to Piccadilly Circus. That's always a good place to start.
When we emerged from the Underground into Piccadilly Circus, I was startled at the lack of crowds. I don't remember ever being in Piccadilly Circus when it wasn't swarming with people. Was it the recession keeping people away? Or simply that it is March, pre-spring break, and my last visit was in June, always a busier time? We walked around the Eros statue, taking a few pictures. Of course, it is never so deserted that someone doesn't walk into or interfere with your picture-taking!
As I was taking a picture down Piccadilly (the street), a young man asked me if I would take a picture of him and his friend. I figured that they must have figured I was a safe bet not to take off with their camera.* They stood in front of the Eros statue (how sweet) and I took one horizontal and one vertical shot, hoping that at least one would be frame-worthy.
As I returned the camera, the young man asked, rather formally, if he could return the favor. I considered just a brief moment, then called my mother to come for a picture. I handed our camera over, thinking briefly that this could be the best scam ever (ask someone to take your picture with your nice looking camera, then offer to take one with theirs and run off with it instead). He did not run off, and now we have quite a nice photo of my mother and me in front of Eros.From Piccadilly we headed down Haymarket, as this is the best way I know to get over to Trafalgar Square. A look at the National Gallery is mandatory. Going inside is optional.**
Once again, I felt like the crowds were curiously lacking. But maybe it was just early in the day.
This was now turning into a walking tour of favorite London sights. I opted not to head down the Mall to Buckingham Palace, but instead turned down Whitehall towards Westminster, Big Ben, and the Thames. My mother, who was still tired, started getting a little grumbly about the wandering with no apparent destination. She kept trying to pin me down over where we were going. My answers—we are going towards Big Ben, we are going along Embankment—were curiously unsatisfactory to her. But she followed. What else could she do?
I did have a bit of a plan. I thought we could walk along the river approximately to Waterloo Bridge, then cut back into the Strand. Before getting quite that far we walked into the Embankment and Victoria Gardens, and paused to sit on a bench for a few moments.
We were just about at the Jubilee Bridge, a walking bridge that crosses the river on either side of the Hungerford Railway Bridge, and my mother abandoned her recalcitrance and agreed to walk onto the bridge to get some good photo ops.*** We took numerous pictures of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben; the London Eye; me; and various combinations of the above. We were seeking the perfect picture. While we may not have accomplished that, my mother liked this windswept one of me.Despite my intentions, we were unable to get to the Strand from the Embankment near Waterloo Bridge (you have to actually be on the bridge), so we kept going, looking for an escape route. It came at Somerset House, where we entered one of the buildings at the Embankment level and was able to take a lift up to the Strand level. This was a part of Somerset House I had not been in, housing a design center and some other things. We left quickly, not wanting to feel obligated to make a donation, and crossed the courtyard and passed the Cortauld Institute to get back to the street.
By that point we were both ready for a break, which would mean a place to sit and have a little something. So we hopped on a bus that was headed toward Piccadilly Circus (as most buses going down the Strand are). It's really only a short distance, but with all the stops and delays, it was a rather long bus ride.
I wasn't sure where to go, but walking down Piccadilly seemed like a good plan. After a quick visit to Waterstone's (and the purchase of three books), we came to Fortnum and Mason, always a favorite stop. The last time we were there they were undergoing renovation, but now it was all complete and the store was restored to the heights of elegance.
Once of the new additions to F&M is a cafe called the Parlour on the first floor. It specialized in ice cream treats (as in "ice cream parlour," get it?) but also has other light foods, tea, and most importantly, scones and clotted cream.
We decided to each have an open-face smoked chicken sandwich (for nourishment) and to split an order of scones. When the scones arrived they were quite petite—a little smaller than I'd expected, to be truthful—but they came with an amazingly ginormous scoop of the most luscious yellow clotted cream. It was thick, heavy, sticky and the very essence of creamy, and every bit of it went on those little scones. I regret nothing!After the scones and cream we did a little shopping in the new and improved F&M (okay, I am not completely cured of shopping). We were entranced by some appliqued tea cosies (and egg cup cosies) and I skulked around taking pictures with my camera phone.**** We had some idea of making our own versions for gifts at home. We shall see.... In the meantime, we bought "samples" to bring home. Down on the ground floor I also bought a bunch of miniature tins of tea, to use in gift bags for the various tea parties I am committed to putting on this spring. And some silver dragees, just because they're beautiful. But that was all.
And that was certainly enough to make a day. We walked the remaining blocks to Green Park Station, past the Ritz Hotel,***** and rode the tube back to our rather less ritzy but welcoming hotel.
For a little more of our day, check out the pictures here.
*Little did they know I am a runner! Oh, who am I kidding. They were both young and slender, they would have caught me in a minute.
**They do have very nice public restrooms, though, should the need arise. And as the National Gallery is free, and a sight to be seen even without the displays, a visit inside is worth your while if you have the time and the inclination.
***She also discovered the elevator which carried us up and down to the bridge and street. I didn't object. My legs were curiously tired and my ankle and achilles tendon were quite tender today.
****I can't download them until I get home, however.
*****And past Richoux and Patisserie Valerie, two other places we could go for tea in future if we were looking for somewhere to go that wasn't a hotel or a department store.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
In which the best part of the train trip was the train
I have a feeling that I am not going to be as good a travel blogger on this trip as I was last time around. Partly because (so far) I feel less prolific and inspired, for the moment, at least. And partly because last time I was not obsessed with reading the Twilight series.* (Although I just finished New Moon—after starting it yesterday, 563 pages consumed like a carton of ice cream, one delicious, addictive bowlful after the next—so unless I go out and buy a copy of Eclipse, I'm off the stuff until I get home.)
Yesterday was pretty much lost to travel and recovery. We landed in London at midday, got to the hotel around 1:30 or so, and ended up resting away a good part of the afternoon (and starting New Moon). It was all I could do to get up at 3:30 or 4:00. I had that sick, heavy feeling you get after napping too long—but I hadn't slept very much, so I think it was just the opposite, my body was still craving more rest.
I went downstairs** and convinced my mother we need to go out for a bit. At the very least we needed to find something for dinner. So we took a walk down Marchmont Street to the Brunswick Center. This used to*** be a rather dingy shopping center with a Safeway and a few shops, but some years ago it was refurbished with a shiny new Waitrose supermarket and a bunch of nicer shops and restaurants, including a Starbucks.
We made a circuit around the shops—nothing called my name—and headed into Waitrose to ogle the English foodstuffs. Grocery stores are good entertainment, and I thought we might pick up some dinner there as well. They had a tasty looking selection of prepared sandwiches and salads (which we ended up getting), but first we took a tour around the store, salivating over the variety of cakes and sweets and biscuits, not to mention all the varieties of cream.****
That was pretty much the extent of our outing. Oh, except that I used the Cash Point by Waitrose to get pounds with my newly acquired debit card. You just put in a secret number and it spits out money, can you imagine that? Yes, I realize I'm living a little behind the times.
So much for the first day in London. The rest of the evening was eating, watching TV (nothing good on), reading, and eventually sleeping.
One thing that we did accomplish Tuesday night was making a bit of a plan for Wednesday. Although we are not the rail travel addicts that my father is, my mother and I decided to go on one train trip with him to max out our rail passes (good for travel on four days, three of which are already committed to getting to Bath, Penzance, and eventually back to London). We agreed to go to Carlisle, which is near the Scottish border, and a long ride on the Virgin train line.
Wednesday morning I was up pretty early, just after 6:00, to go running. This was the first time I'd been in London with my Garmin watch, so finally I had a way to really measure those elusive distances. The first thing I learned was that it is almost exactly a quarter mile from the Harlingford Hotel to Euston Station (by way of the Woburn Walk shortcut). This is good to know for purposes of going to Euston Station, but not much of a run! Good thing I wasn't stopping there.
Next, on to Regent's Park along Euston Road. Yet another conveniently measured distance—a mile from the hotel to the east entrance of the park. That's pretty much what I had expected all along, maybe a little on the shy side. The big question has always been the distance around or through the park. In the past I've spent a lot of time searching the web for the definitive answer on how far it is around Regent's Park. The problem is, that depends on exactly what route you take! Today I started out on the outer circle, but eventually ended up on the perimeter outside of the park. I followed that outer sidewalk past the London Zoo, where I turned back into the park and followed the Broad Walk back to the east gate. The distance for that circuit, by the way, was 2.6 miles. The return trip to the hotel brought me to about 4.7 miles. Even though it was getting late, I didn't want to stop until I hit five miles. So I took an extra turn around the crescent and added a couple blocks at the other end, managing to end up at the doorstep of the hotel just after hitting 5.0. (Today's pictures from Regent's Park here. For a summer visit to Regent's Park, check out this love letter post from 2007!)
I managed to zip in and out of the shower in record time (not too hard when the shower consists of a mere dribble, nothing you want to linger in), and get dressed and dry my hair (no curling iron with me) by 8:15. Just enough time for a small bite***** in the dining room before heading to Euston Station to catch the train.
As I was selecting my clothes I realized (once again) that despite my packing dramas, I really could happily get by the whole trip by wearing just what I wore today.****** Which was jeans and a slightly gathered Lilla P charcoal grey long-sleeved T with a tissue weight black turtleneck underneath (which could be eliminated on warmer days). Add my khaki jacket (which I didn't use today), and a pair of easy black pants in case I don't want to wear jeans, and I would be set. And probably happy. And not carrying such a heavy suitcase! Oh well. I'm going to wear something different tomorrow anyway.
At Euston we got our rail passes validated then waited for our platform number to be posted. About half an hour before departure time, Platform 13 was announced and we surged to the gate.
As we were about to hop onto a first class carriage, an attendant advised us that the whole car was booked for a football team, and we should go to the next car. So we did. Then in that car, a well-dressed gentleman told us that carriage was reserved for the football team. As was the next. This was quite frustrating, as he directed us back to the original car we'd been turned away from! He assured us it had all been sorted, so we sat in seats marked reserved and hoped we didn't get thrown off the train (we didn't) or out of our seats (ditto).
Our biggest coup in this day of train travel was that we ate all our meals for free. In addition to whatever breakfast anyone had had at the hotel, complimentary meals came with the seats. I ordered the English Breakfast, as I'd “only” had a bite at the hotel. Then at around noon, the trolley came around with sandwiches. We weren't hungry yet but each took one for later.
Of course, where we would eat became a question when we arrived to rain in Carlisle. A wet bench hardly seemed appealing! Nor did Carlisle, as we marched around in the heavy drizzle. I may have become a bit snappish. I cheered up, however, upon spotting a Starbucks. Not so much for the coffee, but for a warm, dry place to hang out, maybe eat lunch.
Which is in fact what we did, taking our drinks upstairs where we ate sandwiches, read, and whiled away some of the afternoon. My dad eventually left to go check out a museum, but my mother and I were content to lounge in the armchairs (and, for me, read New Moon). At 3:15 we met up to head back to the station and catch the 3:49 train to London.*******
Once on the train, out came the sandwich trolley again! But not being complete pigs, and after ascertaining that they would be serving a hot dinner later on, we passed on this round of food. We partook instead at 6:00, for the dinner service. My mother and I opted for the smoked salmon and sundried tomato rigatoni (it was yum), and my father went all modest with an egg salad sandwich. Both of which were followed by a tasty chocolate mousse dessert. (And if I need a late night snack, I have a strawberry muffin tucked in my bag!) (Pictures from the train trip here.)
The train route passed sort of through the Lake District, and although we saw no lakes, the views from the train were scenic. I had not been anywhere near the Lake District since an ill-fated stopover after law school. It was in August, which is a bad time to go to England period, but even worse for the Lake District, which is overrun by tourists (including the English) at the best of times... and August is not the best of times. I haven't been back since, although I did see Miss Potter (while I was in England in 2007, as a matter of fact). If I ever were to go to the Lakes again, I would want a car to get off the beaten track (if there is any unbeaten track), and I would probably avoid the height of summer!
We got back into London around 7:30 p.m., and the quarter mile to the hotel seemed a lot longer at the end of a long day than it did in the morning! Since we are boring quiet folk, we were quite happy to end the day there. Leave the pub crawling and theatre going to the young. Or at least the ones who weren't up at 6:00 to go running.
*Thanks, Corey, for introducing me to this paperback crack. You know what this leads to, don't you? The hard stuff—hardbacks.
**My parents are on the second floor and I am on the third floor (which in American translation means third and fourth). There is a huge difference. To get to my tiny little single room garret at the very furthest reaches of the hotel you have to climb an additional narrow, winding flight of stairs. I don't mind the stairs but it is a pain to haul suitcases up and down them! But I intentionally chose to have that room. I wanted a room facing the street and garden square below (way below), and the only lower level front side single room was described by the desk clerk as “very small”—and that's saying something. My only serious regret about the remote room is that the wireless signal does not reach up there. So I have to go down to the lobby, or at least a landing, to access email and the internet. Which is a royal pain.
***When I was in college.
****A foodaholic's dream.
*****Okay, two small scones with butter and jam, and some tinned grapefruit. I love tinned grapefruit.
******Which I am about to describe. Even though this is not that blog.
*******Which was an earlier train than we had planned. But I had no real desire to stay in Carlisle longer. There were tons of restaurants, but we weren't looking for food. There were shops (which we eventually did find), but nobody had a yen for shopping. The historical and scenic areas seemed rather inaccessible this early in the year, not to mention unappealing in the weather. Carlisle is a nice enough town, but it is a big town, and other than London, Bath, and certain other wonderful English cities, I really prefer the villages. Which are pretty inaccessible by train. But we do enjoy the train trips!
Yesterday was pretty much lost to travel and recovery. We landed in London at midday, got to the hotel around 1:30 or so, and ended up resting away a good part of the afternoon (and starting New Moon). It was all I could do to get up at 3:30 or 4:00. I had that sick, heavy feeling you get after napping too long—but I hadn't slept very much, so I think it was just the opposite, my body was still craving more rest.
I went downstairs** and convinced my mother we need to go out for a bit. At the very least we needed to find something for dinner. So we took a walk down Marchmont Street to the Brunswick Center. This used to*** be a rather dingy shopping center with a Safeway and a few shops, but some years ago it was refurbished with a shiny new Waitrose supermarket and a bunch of nicer shops and restaurants, including a Starbucks.
We made a circuit around the shops—nothing called my name—and headed into Waitrose to ogle the English foodstuffs. Grocery stores are good entertainment, and I thought we might pick up some dinner there as well. They had a tasty looking selection of prepared sandwiches and salads (which we ended up getting), but first we took a tour around the store, salivating over the variety of cakes and sweets and biscuits, not to mention all the varieties of cream.****
That was pretty much the extent of our outing. Oh, except that I used the Cash Point by Waitrose to get pounds with my newly acquired debit card. You just put in a secret number and it spits out money, can you imagine that? Yes, I realize I'm living a little behind the times.
So much for the first day in London. The rest of the evening was eating, watching TV (nothing good on), reading, and eventually sleeping.
One thing that we did accomplish Tuesday night was making a bit of a plan for Wednesday. Although we are not the rail travel addicts that my father is, my mother and I decided to go on one train trip with him to max out our rail passes (good for travel on four days, three of which are already committed to getting to Bath, Penzance, and eventually back to London). We agreed to go to Carlisle, which is near the Scottish border, and a long ride on the Virgin train line.
Wednesday morning I was up pretty early, just after 6:00, to go running. This was the first time I'd been in London with my Garmin watch, so finally I had a way to really measure those elusive distances. The first thing I learned was that it is almost exactly a quarter mile from the Harlingford Hotel to Euston Station (by way of the Woburn Walk shortcut). This is good to know for purposes of going to Euston Station, but not much of a run! Good thing I wasn't stopping there.
Next, on to Regent's Park along Euston Road. Yet another conveniently measured distance—a mile from the hotel to the east entrance of the park. That's pretty much what I had expected all along, maybe a little on the shy side. The big question has always been the distance around or through the park. In the past I've spent a lot of time searching the web for the definitive answer on how far it is around Regent's Park. The problem is, that depends on exactly what route you take! Today I started out on the outer circle, but eventually ended up on the perimeter outside of the park. I followed that outer sidewalk past the London Zoo, where I turned back into the park and followed the Broad Walk back to the east gate. The distance for that circuit, by the way, was 2.6 miles. The return trip to the hotel brought me to about 4.7 miles. Even though it was getting late, I didn't want to stop until I hit five miles. So I took an extra turn around the crescent and added a couple blocks at the other end, managing to end up at the doorstep of the hotel just after hitting 5.0. (Today's pictures from Regent's Park here. For a summer visit to Regent's Park, check out this love letter post from 2007!)
I managed to zip in and out of the shower in record time (not too hard when the shower consists of a mere dribble, nothing you want to linger in), and get dressed and dry my hair (no curling iron with me) by 8:15. Just enough time for a small bite***** in the dining room before heading to Euston Station to catch the train.
As I was selecting my clothes I realized (once again) that despite my packing dramas, I really could happily get by the whole trip by wearing just what I wore today.****** Which was jeans and a slightly gathered Lilla P charcoal grey long-sleeved T with a tissue weight black turtleneck underneath (which could be eliminated on warmer days). Add my khaki jacket (which I didn't use today), and a pair of easy black pants in case I don't want to wear jeans, and I would be set. And probably happy. And not carrying such a heavy suitcase! Oh well. I'm going to wear something different tomorrow anyway.
At Euston we got our rail passes validated then waited for our platform number to be posted. About half an hour before departure time, Platform 13 was announced and we surged to the gate.
As we were about to hop onto a first class carriage, an attendant advised us that the whole car was booked for a football team, and we should go to the next car. So we did. Then in that car, a well-dressed gentleman told us that carriage was reserved for the football team. As was the next. This was quite frustrating, as he directed us back to the original car we'd been turned away from! He assured us it had all been sorted, so we sat in seats marked reserved and hoped we didn't get thrown off the train (we didn't) or out of our seats (ditto).
Our biggest coup in this day of train travel was that we ate all our meals for free. In addition to whatever breakfast anyone had had at the hotel, complimentary meals came with the seats. I ordered the English Breakfast, as I'd “only” had a bite at the hotel. Then at around noon, the trolley came around with sandwiches. We weren't hungry yet but each took one for later.Of course, where we would eat became a question when we arrived to rain in Carlisle. A wet bench hardly seemed appealing! Nor did Carlisle, as we marched around in the heavy drizzle. I may have become a bit snappish. I cheered up, however, upon spotting a Starbucks. Not so much for the coffee, but for a warm, dry place to hang out, maybe eat lunch.
Which is in fact what we did, taking our drinks upstairs where we ate sandwiches, read, and whiled away some of the afternoon. My dad eventually left to go check out a museum, but my mother and I were content to lounge in the armchairs (and, for me, read New Moon). At 3:15 we met up to head back to the station and catch the 3:49 train to London.*******
Once on the train, out came the sandwich trolley again! But not being complete pigs, and after ascertaining that they would be serving a hot dinner later on, we passed on this round of food. We partook instead at 6:00, for the dinner service. My mother and I opted for the smoked salmon and sundried tomato rigatoni (it was yum), and my father went all modest with an egg salad sandwich. Both of which were followed by a tasty chocolate mousse dessert. (And if I need a late night snack, I have a strawberry muffin tucked in my bag!) (Pictures from the train trip here.)
The train route passed sort of through the Lake District, and although we saw no lakes, the views from the train were scenic. I had not been anywhere near the Lake District since an ill-fated stopover after law school. It was in August, which is a bad time to go to England period, but even worse for the Lake District, which is overrun by tourists (including the English) at the best of times... and August is not the best of times. I haven't been back since, although I did see Miss Potter (while I was in England in 2007, as a matter of fact). If I ever were to go to the Lakes again, I would want a car to get off the beaten track (if there is any unbeaten track), and I would probably avoid the height of summer!We got back into London around 7:30 p.m., and the quarter mile to the hotel seemed a lot longer at the end of a long day than it did in the morning! Since we are boring quiet folk, we were quite happy to end the day there. Leave the pub crawling and theatre going to the young. Or at least the ones who weren't up at 6:00 to go running.
*Thanks, Corey, for introducing me to this paperback crack. You know what this leads to, don't you? The hard stuff—hardbacks.
**My parents are on the second floor and I am on the third floor (which in American translation means third and fourth). There is a huge difference. To get to my tiny little single room garret at the very furthest reaches of the hotel you have to climb an additional narrow, winding flight of stairs. I don't mind the stairs but it is a pain to haul suitcases up and down them! But I intentionally chose to have that room. I wanted a room facing the street and garden square below (way below), and the only lower level front side single room was described by the desk clerk as “very small”—and that's saying something. My only serious regret about the remote room is that the wireless signal does not reach up there. So I have to go down to the lobby, or at least a landing, to access email and the internet. Which is a royal pain.
***When I was in college.
****A foodaholic's dream.
*****Okay, two small scones with butter and jam, and some tinned grapefruit. I love tinned grapefruit.
******Which I am about to describe. Even though this is not that blog.
*******Which was an earlier train than we had planned. But I had no real desire to stay in Carlisle longer. There were tons of restaurants, but we weren't looking for food. There were shops (which we eventually did find), but nobody had a yen for shopping. The historical and scenic areas seemed rather inaccessible this early in the year, not to mention unappealing in the weather. Carlisle is a nice enough town, but it is a big town, and other than London, Bath, and certain other wonderful English cities, I really prefer the villages. Which are pretty inaccessible by train. But we do enjoy the train trips!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
London, Standard Time
It's not Daylight Savings Time here in London yet, so strangely we are only seven hours ahead of the folks at home. I haven't yet determined whether the time will change while we are here, or not. A simple Google search (or, ahem, asking someone, like the desk clerk at the hotel) should resolve that question.*
I'm a bit tired as it is 6:45 a.m. at home and we've been traveling since yesterday afternoon. Here is the blizzard we encountered in Everett before we left on Monday, and here is my post while waiting at SeaTac.
I could write about the flight (half empty) or the new video-on-deamand system on the plane (cool), but I don't have the energy just now. I'm in that post-arrival slump, worn down by a long flight and lack of sleep, and slightly less than thrilled with anything. So maybe I'll go read the book I didn't read on the plane (due to the video system) and rest up just a bit.
*The answer is Sunday, March 29.
I'm a bit tired as it is 6:45 a.m. at home and we've been traveling since yesterday afternoon. Here is the blizzard we encountered in Everett before we left on Monday, and here is my post while waiting at SeaTac.
I could write about the flight (half empty) or the new video-on-deamand system on the plane (cool), but I don't have the energy just now. I'm in that post-arrival slump, worn down by a long flight and lack of sleep, and slightly less than thrilled with anything. So maybe I'll go read the book I didn't read on the plane (due to the video system) and rest up just a bit.
*The answer is Sunday, March 29.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Leaving on a jet plane (tomorrow)
In about ten minutes I will be able to check in and obtain seat assignments for our flight to London tomorrow. If you think that means I am all packed and ready to go, you are wrong. I am suffering from my typical, perpetual, packing procrastination. Not a new experience. It dates back to my college years and occurs whether I am going to Europe or to Canada for a weekend.
I just took a break from my procrastination post to try the online check-in, and have encountered a loop of frustration. British Airways requires you to provide passport information in advance, but when I attempted to do so I got a message that the system was not working, try again later. However, I can't check in or get seats until that information is provided. So although online check-in is "open," I CAN'T CHECK IN!!!
Better go pack. But before I do, a few notes to update.
Yesterday I did my last long run before the half marathon, 10.2 miles on the Centennial Trail near Snohomish. This was actually a fundraising event for the YMCA's Invest in Youth Program, where you raise or donate money and run as many five-mile loops as you choose to. I hope somebody besides me brought some money, because I got the sense that the participants were more interested in running ultra-long distances than raising money. I'm probably wrong, I'm sure they chipped in. Just because one of the volunteers seemed surprised when I handed him a check, meant nothing I am sure.
Anyhow, I was one of the few people there who seemed to be planning to run less than at least a marathon-length distance. I came planning to run ten miles (with enough time allotted for that), and that's what I did. I got there a little after 10 a.m., just in time to run into Julie Bell, who I've seen at so many races over the last couple years. She was finishing up ten miles, so that's one other. The friend that she was running with wanted to do a couple more miles so she asked if she could run along with me for a mile (then she'd turn back and quit).
I said sure, although I warned her I planned to be slow. She said that was fine, she just wanted the distance. Now you'd think she might be a little tired after the ten miles, but on the other hand she was also all warmed up, and I had just come straight from my car (and pretty much my bed before that). We started out at what felt like a pretty decent clip to me. Then she started talking to me, and asking me questions. It was all I could do to maintain the pace and answer in short sentences, while I was trying to get my legs and cardiovascular system going. We finished that first mile in just under ten minutes. Shortly afterward we said our goodbyes and she turned around.
I realized, after she was gone, that I had been running without my ipod, so now that I was alone I pulled it out and turned it on. Nothing like music in your ears to mask the sound of your own breathing. The good thing about starting out faster than planned is that it set the tone for me. I was able to continue to maintain between a 10:15 and 10:30 pace even on my own. This made me happy because that was the non-race pace that I had usually maintained last summer, before my downslide began. I did not consider this event a race, because nobody was running against anybody else, many of us started at different times, and there was no specific finish.
The turnaround was just past 2.5 miles, and I headed back toward the trailhead to finish my first lap. The "back" part of the out and back was slightly easier, because although the path seemed pretty level, it was slightly uphill on the out portion, and therefore slightly downhill on the way back. That was nice.
At the trailhead I stopped at the bathroom, dropped off my gloves because I was getting warm, and started out again. Second verse, same as the first. I began to recognize people as we passed each other going opposite directions. Usually we would wave, sometimes the other person would say "good job" to me (I was never quick enough to say it back).
On my second and final return trip I caught up with an older woman who was walking and talking to another runner who was passing her. Both of them were doing marathon distances ("just" a marathon, each said), and were doing some sort of walk-run combination. The older woman said, I think, she was doing 60-40, which I assumed meant 6/10 of a mile running, and 4/10 walking.
I met up with her just as I began mile 10 on my Garmin, and she started running with me and talking to me. She organizes some kind of long-distance trail run in Kirkland (or somewhere like that) and much prefers trails to pavement, even the gentle blacktop of this path. As we ran together I was able to talk much more easily than in my first mile, yet when I looked at my watch we were doing a 9:30 pace. Clearly warming up makes a difference.
After a ways together she said goodbye--apparently going into a walk phase--and I finished the remaining half mile or so. I was definitely glad to be finished, but felt pretty good about the run.
This morning, even with the one-hour "spring forward" time change, Rod and I were up before the crack of dawn to go skiing up at Stevens. The Pass had multiple inches of new snow, and shockingly, there was even an inch of snow on the ground here from a late night or early morning snowfall (in March!).
In addition to the fresh snow, we were treated to shockingly blue skies and bright sunshine, warm enough that I felt overheated working my way through the soft snow. Rod was excited and claimed it was very light, but it made me a little nervous. My nervousness was well founded when, on one run, I inadvertantly wandered too far off the side and got stuck in deep "powder."
This was a bit of a freak-out experience for me. I don't want to relive it (much) now, but I will say that it took a long time for me to get out, and there was a certain amount of hyperventilating and crying, as well as a fair amount of swearing. Afterwards I was still shaken and skiied badly for at least a couple more runs, until I regained my equilibrium by having lunch. (Funny how that works.)
After lunch some clouds had rolled in and we got some snow. Still, even the snowflakes were light and fluffy, and didn't really disrupt the skiing the way snowfall sometimes does. But by very early afternoon, my quads had had enough. Yesterday's ten miles plus somewhat strenous skiing did me in. At one point I literally thought, I just don't want to make another turn; luckily that was in a spot where I could just point myself downhill and go!
So I've done lots of stuff this weekend (I didn't even mention the auction fundraiser and dinner we attended last night); everything but pack, really. And, now, check in for the flight. I made a second effort and the system is still down. Better go do that packing and try again later. I am sure my mother will blame me if we get bad seats! Okay, better try again now, just in case it's working. Then pack.
I just took a break from my procrastination post to try the online check-in, and have encountered a loop of frustration. British Airways requires you to provide passport information in advance, but when I attempted to do so I got a message that the system was not working, try again later. However, I can't check in or get seats until that information is provided. So although online check-in is "open," I CAN'T CHECK IN!!!
Better go pack. But before I do, a few notes to update.
Yesterday I did my last long run before the half marathon, 10.2 miles on the Centennial Trail near Snohomish. This was actually a fundraising event for the YMCA's Invest in Youth Program, where you raise or donate money and run as many five-mile loops as you choose to. I hope somebody besides me brought some money, because I got the sense that the participants were more interested in running ultra-long distances than raising money. I'm probably wrong, I'm sure they chipped in. Just because one of the volunteers seemed surprised when I handed him a check, meant nothing I am sure.
Anyhow, I was one of the few people there who seemed to be planning to run less than at least a marathon-length distance. I came planning to run ten miles (with enough time allotted for that), and that's what I did. I got there a little after 10 a.m., just in time to run into Julie Bell, who I've seen at so many races over the last couple years. She was finishing up ten miles, so that's one other. The friend that she was running with wanted to do a couple more miles so she asked if she could run along with me for a mile (then she'd turn back and quit).
I said sure, although I warned her I planned to be slow. She said that was fine, she just wanted the distance. Now you'd think she might be a little tired after the ten miles, but on the other hand she was also all warmed up, and I had just come straight from my car (and pretty much my bed before that). We started out at what felt like a pretty decent clip to me. Then she started talking to me, and asking me questions. It was all I could do to maintain the pace and answer in short sentences, while I was trying to get my legs and cardiovascular system going. We finished that first mile in just under ten minutes. Shortly afterward we said our goodbyes and she turned around.
I realized, after she was gone, that I had been running without my ipod, so now that I was alone I pulled it out and turned it on. Nothing like music in your ears to mask the sound of your own breathing. The good thing about starting out faster than planned is that it set the tone for me. I was able to continue to maintain between a 10:15 and 10:30 pace even on my own. This made me happy because that was the non-race pace that I had usually maintained last summer, before my downslide began. I did not consider this event a race, because nobody was running against anybody else, many of us started at different times, and there was no specific finish.
The turnaround was just past 2.5 miles, and I headed back toward the trailhead to finish my first lap. The "back" part of the out and back was slightly easier, because although the path seemed pretty level, it was slightly uphill on the out portion, and therefore slightly downhill on the way back. That was nice.
At the trailhead I stopped at the bathroom, dropped off my gloves because I was getting warm, and started out again. Second verse, same as the first. I began to recognize people as we passed each other going opposite directions. Usually we would wave, sometimes the other person would say "good job" to me (I was never quick enough to say it back).
On my second and final return trip I caught up with an older woman who was walking and talking to another runner who was passing her. Both of them were doing marathon distances ("just" a marathon, each said), and were doing some sort of walk-run combination. The older woman said, I think, she was doing 60-40, which I assumed meant 6/10 of a mile running, and 4/10 walking.
I met up with her just as I began mile 10 on my Garmin, and she started running with me and talking to me. She organizes some kind of long-distance trail run in Kirkland (or somewhere like that) and much prefers trails to pavement, even the gentle blacktop of this path. As we ran together I was able to talk much more easily than in my first mile, yet when I looked at my watch we were doing a 9:30 pace. Clearly warming up makes a difference.
After a ways together she said goodbye--apparently going into a walk phase--and I finished the remaining half mile or so. I was definitely glad to be finished, but felt pretty good about the run.
This morning, even with the one-hour "spring forward" time change, Rod and I were up before the crack of dawn to go skiing up at Stevens. The Pass had multiple inches of new snow, and shockingly, there was even an inch of snow on the ground here from a late night or early morning snowfall (in March!).
In addition to the fresh snow, we were treated to shockingly blue skies and bright sunshine, warm enough that I felt overheated working my way through the soft snow. Rod was excited and claimed it was very light, but it made me a little nervous. My nervousness was well founded when, on one run, I inadvertantly wandered too far off the side and got stuck in deep "powder."
This was a bit of a freak-out experience for me. I don't want to relive it (much) now, but I will say that it took a long time for me to get out, and there was a certain amount of hyperventilating and crying, as well as a fair amount of swearing. Afterwards I was still shaken and skiied badly for at least a couple more runs, until I regained my equilibrium by having lunch. (Funny how that works.)
After lunch some clouds had rolled in and we got some snow. Still, even the snowflakes were light and fluffy, and didn't really disrupt the skiing the way snowfall sometimes does. But by very early afternoon, my quads had had enough. Yesterday's ten miles plus somewhat strenous skiing did me in. At one point I literally thought, I just don't want to make another turn; luckily that was in a spot where I could just point myself downhill and go!
So I've done lots of stuff this weekend (I didn't even mention the auction fundraiser and dinner we attended last night); everything but pack, really. And, now, check in for the flight. I made a second effort and the system is still down. Better go do that packing and try again later. I am sure my mother will blame me if we get bad seats! Okay, better try again now, just in case it's working. Then pack.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The final countdown
Well, it's less than a week now before we leave for England. Tick tock, tick tock! All plans are laid. Most importantly, hotel reservations are made!
I'm quite excited about our planned accommodations. Our first three nights in London will be at my long-time London pied-à-terre , the Harlingford Hotel near Russell Square in Bloomsbury, where I first stayed as a college student in 1986. Then in Bath, for the weekend of the Half Marathon, we will be staying at a bed and breakfast called Meadowland, a new destination for me. I found Meadowland after discovering that Haydon House (where I've been staying since 1995) has closed. However, Meadowland is not only in the same neighborhood as Haydon House, it appears (from the website) remarkably similar in style and appearance! Finally, the day after the run, we will take the train to Penzance for three days of R & R by the sea. We're staying at the Abbey Hotel, which I located through Alistair Sawday's Special Places to Stay.
I have my new passport (replaced after my purse was stolen in December), a general idea of what I want to pack, and kitty care lined up for the ones left at home (Rod and my cats, or more precisely, Rod for my cats). The only snag in the preparations is that I have misplaced my camera and my desultory efforts to locate it have so far been to no avail. I keep telling myself, it's got to be somewhere!
Other than that difficulty (and the numerous other little tasks that need to be accomplished), I'm ready!
I'm quite excited about our planned accommodations. Our first three nights in London will be at my long-time London pied-à-terre , the Harlingford Hotel near Russell Square in Bloomsbury, where I first stayed as a college student in 1986. Then in Bath, for the weekend of the Half Marathon, we will be staying at a bed and breakfast called Meadowland, a new destination for me. I found Meadowland after discovering that Haydon House (where I've been staying since 1995) has closed. However, Meadowland is not only in the same neighborhood as Haydon House, it appears (from the website) remarkably similar in style and appearance! Finally, the day after the run, we will take the train to Penzance for three days of R & R by the sea. We're staying at the Abbey Hotel, which I located through Alistair Sawday's Special Places to Stay.
I have my new passport (replaced after my purse was stolen in December), a general idea of what I want to pack, and kitty care lined up for the ones left at home (Rod and my cats, or more precisely, Rod for my cats). The only snag in the preparations is that I have misplaced my camera and my desultory efforts to locate it have so far been to no avail. I keep telling myself, it's got to be somewhere!
Other than that difficulty (and the numerous other little tasks that need to be accomplished), I'm ready!
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