Hello again!

John, the resident expert on email protocol, now informs me that you
should all really be "Cc" and not main addressees, since I am writing
not directly to each of you but just to let you in on the news in case
you are interested.  This leaves me with the problem of who exactly
should be the main recipient of these meandering missives.  For this
one, I choose Julia Elman, who in California always put up with my
endless chatter about nothing on the telephone.  To those of you who
know England better than I, I apologize for the tediousness, but as you
are now only "Cc's," you are under no obligation to read.

As our big extravagance last month, we threw together a last-minute trip
to the West Country for five days.  The drive took about five hours, but
we broke it up with a stop at Stonehenge on the way down.  We stopped
for the kids, so they would be able to see a bit of ancient history, but
I really prefer other smaller stone circles elsewhere.  Stonehenge, with
its concrete path and fence surrounding it and its portable audio tour
is just too invaded by the present for me.  I think the kids will mostly
remember getting to hold their own audio player.  Further entertainment
was provided by the constant "Mini!" spotting going on mostly from the
back seat.  John wonders how long this excitement over a car can
possibly last.

The country inn, Nansidwell, where we arrived that night proved more of
an authentic English experience: a nineteenth-century building covered
with wisteria and large sitting rooms with mullioned windows decorated
in Laura Ashley fabrics.  We dressed the kids for their own private high
tea, and they did their best to behave accordingly.  Afterwards we took
a scenic stroll down to the ocean, where John demonstrated his rock
skipping prowess.  We followed a loop trail back to our inn, picking
wild berries and avoiding cow pies as we made our way along the path. 
Unfortunately, our navigator, who shall go un-named but who has a knack
for always finding new "short cuts," (ask me about the 120 mile dirt
road detour in New Mexico sometime) missed our turnoff and took us on a
seemingly endless excursion through some very damp woods where Julia
again began having an asthma attack. Had we learned our lesson and
brought along her inhalers on our walk? No way. John ended up running
back to the inn and driving to pick us up at a church along the route. 
At least the inhalers did their job immediately, and Julia felt fine
enough to watch TV in her room with Henry while John and I were able to
enjoy a quiet dinner in the dining room with the other adults.  Needless
to say, now we carry the inhaler wherever we go.

The next day we walked back to the beach where John again demonstrated
his rock skipping skills. (I think this is the athletic equivalent to
Tetris for him.)  When he finally felt he had done his best, we drove on
to the port city of Falmouth where we had very good Cornish pasties and
ice cream and took a ferry to St. Mawes and hiked up to one of Henry
VIII's castle fortifications overlooking the harbor.  Henry loved
playing on the cannons there, while I appreciated sitting on a bench to
admire the view and the vegetation (reminiscent of California with its
agapanthus, fuschia and hydrangea in full bloom).  The path away from
the castle was lined with charming cottages, one pink with a thatched
roof, another with blue morning glories growing inside the window. When
we finally arrived at our inland inn, the Arundell Arms, that evening we
were too tired to do anything other than eat.  

Friday found us at the local doctor's, getting a replacement inhaler for
one that had malfunctioned and given Julia too much medication.   This
asthma thing can really be stressful!  We still managed to pick up a
picnic lunch in the village and head to the moors of Dartmoor Park for
lunch in the midst of a blustery wind.  The wind wasn't cold enough to
drive us home, but it did force us to find a sheltered river valley
carpeted with the most vibrant green where we walked to a stone clapper
bridge made centuries ago.  Then we took some time to explore the remote
villages of the area; the best ones are down single lane roads so narrow
that you have to back up when you encounter traffic in the other
direction.  Nor can you see the cars coming due to the height of the
hedgerows.  Tour coaches can't get to those places, so they are the
scenic opposite of a destination like Stonehenge.  A few thatched
cottages, a couple of craft shops, a tea room, and that's your village.
As we  left the park, Henry insisted we climb up to one of the many
rock-piles called tors created by erosion on top of the hills of the
area.  John and the kids stood up to a bracing wind and scaled the
rocks, while I let my acrophobia be my excuse to take photographs from
below.  As they admired the sweeping vistas of heathered hills from
Haytor, I examined up close the wildflowers and a huge caterpiller Henry
had discovered.  We all had a great time in our appreciation of nature.

The next day we did the more touristy route of visiting a steep coastal
village of Clovelly, where they actually make you pay to walk through
the town.  The village was charming, but the idea of being charged to
walk through took away from its authenticity.  They gave Julia a quiz
sheet with clues throughout the town, so she was so obsessed with
completing it that she hardly paid any attention to her actual
surroundings.  She was thrilled to win a ceramic bird (made in Taiwan)
for all her efforts.  These quiz sheets for the kids are pervasive at
tourist attractions, and I hate them because I have to spend my time
helping Julia answer questions like "How many books are in the library?"
while John and Henry run ahead and actually get to look at the
attraction.  

At the behest of Julia, we then visited Tintagel, the supposed ruins of
King Arthur's castle.  The location is spectacular, on a greatly eroded
cliff/peninsula on the coast.  This country seems to provide plenty of
challenges for the acrophobic.  I find myself clutching cliff walls on
one side and gripping the hand rails on the other, fearing I'll have to
let go of one side when I encounter someone in the opposite direction. 
After such a rough day of cliff-hiking, we all enjoyed our two-hour meal
at the inn, especially since the kids headed to the room halfway
through. When we returned to our room, we found them snuggled together
in bed, Julia reading a story to Henry.  This move has done so much to
strengthen their relationship and sense of responsibility.

We had had such a fulfilling day on the moors that we decided to return
again on Sunday.  Once again we were not disappointed in the awesome
beauty of this area. We arrived in a misting rain, hiked down to Lydford
Gorge in two different spots, one of which had a waterfall roaring down
90 feet, the other a steep ravine where the river plunged into a series
of whirlpools called Devil's Cauldron.  Not surprisingly, I opted out of
the up-close cliff edge view of the water, but John took the kids along
a ledge with no outer railing and a steep drop-off into the cauldron!  I
am really learning to be less protective on this trip.  After that we
returned to civilization by visiting Castle Drogo, a 20th century
residence, on our way back to the London area.  We felt as if we'd
managed to cram quite a lot into our five days.

I'm sure you're thinking I've managed to cram quite a lot into this
email, so I'd best be ending this journey for now as well.

Next installment: school, neighborhood, and cultural notes.

Maureen