I just can't get over separate spigots

I woke up late. Cindi went down before showering. I tried to bathe in tub with separate hot and cold spigots. Got dressed and tried to find my way down to the kitchen-dining room. Took front way down but was blocked by a tour group. Went back up and scurried through halls trying to find the back way down for about ten minutes like a rat in a maze peaking out windows to get my bearings. Finally opened a door in the hallway to see if it was someone’s room or a mid corridor door. Saw Cindi. She had come back up to get cash to settle with Patsy. Went down for breakfast. Very nice, fresh fruit, yogurt, eggs, toast, “real bacon” versus ham, grapefruit coffee. After breakfast, Cindi showered while I packed my bag and brought it down.

Classic NG Car Club Tours Great Chalfield Manor

Took pics of vintage 1920’s NG cars that arrived for a tour. Cindi met me outside. She had been looking for me and said that Patsy didn’t have time to take us throught the rest of the manor and gave us free tickets fort the tour. We went through most of the tour but split from the group after some time since we were already familiar with the history from Patsy’s amd Robert’s stories. I brought the rest of the bags down. We tried to find Patsy in garden to say good bye. Went back inside to find Robert who was on the phone. After he finished his call, he went out back to find her. He came back in and spotted her in the front courtyard with floppy hat and a basket of greens in hand. I didn’t recognize her. He opened door and let her in. We hugged, shook hands and hit the road. It was a short, 20 minute drive to Wells.

The Well at Wells

We parked and started walking making our ascent into town. We spotted a church spire conveniently close and walked to it. It was your run of the mill (300 years old?) church and we were thinking “this can’t be it.” A sign out front advertising the St. Cuthberts Music Festival confirmed our theory. We walked further to what appeared to the the main street and saw signs to the along the way for Wells Cathedral. It was a gradual incline up to the main square. Rain water was running through underground the gutters of the street and strange smells were being emitted from the grates that mixed with the aromas from the shops above. It was hard to tell if you were smelling cheese, sewage or yeast. There is a thin line between good earthy smells and bad ones. The street led to a square which had as I learned to expect, a well. Many of the town and street names in the in the U.K. are taken from literal origins (Saltash, Lands End, Lostwithiel, Lizard, Rock, Windmill, Splatt (?), Port Issac). The square was encircled by shops with a passageway in the upper left corner with sounds of a street performer echoing from it. As we passed through, a young man was playing guitar and singing “popular” music according to the label on his sheet music folder. For this audience, Simon and Garfunkel fell within this genre. The guitar was tuned. The voice needed a little work.

Crossing the Lawns to Wells Cathedral

The other side of the passage revealed a very ornate Cathedral perched on wide open green lawns. We entered the ticket area which looked to be totally refurbished in recent years. The interior was modern and new. Greeters gave you gave directions and information. The entry fee was by donation so we fed the suggested amount through a slot in a glass kiosk. I asked about taking photos and the greeter said that it was allowed and to go to the photo pass table to get a sticker. We entered the cathedral and were immediately met by another greeter. He was an elderly gentleman eager to impart all his knowledge. We needed to keep the tour short but he provided so much invaluable information about the cathedral that we we listened and prompted him with more questions. Despite the overcast skies, the interior was quite bright. The quality and color of the native limestone caries from region to region and the quarries near Wells were blessed with a wonderfully creamy soft stone. Light through the gothic windows of the nave seemed to be amplified as it bounced from wall to wall, and arch to arch down its length.

The Lofty Nave in Wells Cathedral

The ribs of the vault seemed to hang from their apexes, framing crimson floral patterns delicately painted on bright ivory backgrounds. The eye was led down the nave to a beautiful, if not accidental architectural feature at the trancept. Instead of the usual uninterrupted view beyond, the walls were buttressed with mirrored arches from above and below forming an “X” at their intersection. Circular openings in the left and right areas of the “X” allowed you to peer through and lightened the visual weight of the feature. At first glance, one would think that the original architect had come up with an innovative way to focus the eye to the junction of nave and trancept. In fact, it was added in later years for structural reasons. It was a beautiful solution the the problem and I coudn’t imagine the cathedral without it. The left wing of the trancept held a beautifully carved figure of Christ on the cross with a elaborate clock above. It was an unusual juxtaposition of the the two. Below was a devout and sensitively carved figure of the Saviour rising out of thin drapes of burial linens suggesting the transition to the afterlife. Lit from above, shadows filled the eye sockets and dripped down like tears over the cheeks. It portrayed a feeling of sadness and joy at the same time. Above the Christ figure was the clock; a marvel of technology and craftsmanship. Geometric and mechanical, the face was contructed of 24 round medalions painted in roman numerals. Each was placed precisely according to the mathematical constant and highlighted by gold gilded lines radiating from the center. A platform projected from above the face and where a white and black nights rotated in and out of small doorways on a disc on the hour. Tombs dating back to 9th century lined the corridors of the church. Doorways led to private Chapels. Unique grave markers in cloister. Saw Almshouses on the way back. Drove to Tintagel (Tin-Tăj’-Jel). Roads soon began to diminish. The 1st clue was that the SatNav began referring to roads as, well, “ROAD”. We passed huge wind power generators along the way. It was hard to imagine anything that massive spinning so fast. They were like gargantuan blenders. As scary as they appeared, the real fear presented itself as we veered off the “A” down narrow, rock-walled passageways with twists and turns shrouded with trees. Oncoming cars negotiated their way past each other by hugging the roadside edge as brambles scratched the side of each vehicle. Intermittent bulges in the road were the only means to pass. This meant that someone ultimately had to hold back or back up for the other to continue. The general rule was that people going up an incline had to back down to a pull off. I assume the logic here was that it was easier to roll back with a view of the road than to clutch uphill with only sky in the rearview mirror. After rounding a tight switch-back on a steep upward climb at the Mill House, I dropped the Focus into 2nd gear and gave it “the beans”. About halfway up, an oncoming car topped the crest of the hill. It was my turn to back down and give way. The high belt line of the focus and meager residual daylight made it difficult to ease my way back into a very small driveway on my left. As I lifted my foot off the brake and feathered the steering wheel to thread the needle into the slot, I heard a simultaneous beep of the oncoming vehicle’s horn and a crunching sound emanating from the driver’s side fender. Sugar, Honey, Ice Tea. I asked Cindi to wind down her window to get a better view of the situation and she said that we hit a small post hidden from view. After some very delicate maneuvers, I was able to back into the driveway of the house with one crooked post. The oncoming car rolled by and I throttled it up the hill saying “I’m not backing up for no one until I’m over the rise.” We soon arrived at Trenowan B&B. It was a large house with a narrow gate leading to a parking lot with three vehicles. I had enough room to do a reverse three point turn and did so. At this point, I was not about to blindly back out of the driveway into traffic the next day. I got out of the car and winced as I took my first look at the fender. I was surprised and relieved to find that only a small triangular portion of moulded plastic had been peeled back. I momentarily bent and held it into place and thought to myself that I could find some way to repair it. We walked to the front door and were met by a smiling and cheerful Vivienne. We recounted our trials getting there and declined a hot tea for a cool bottle of wine waiting for us in the boot of the car. She showed us to our room on the 2nd floor, pointing out an empty room nearby with a small fridge for the wine. The room looked newly remodeled, was quaintly decorated for the region and had large windows providing panoramic views of the coast. It afforded all the modern U.S. conveniences including cable T.V. and a spotless bathroom replete with “American Standard” fixtures. After getting the bags hauled up the stairs, we cracked open the bottle, settled in and Cindi took a nap. We had taken a somewhat long travel leg so I let her snooze and grabbed the camera and headed outside for some pics of the local surroundings. With about an hour and a half of daylight, I headed along the upper road. The winds of hurricane Irene had follwed us eastward and my jacket flapped vigorously in her last gasps huffing through these upper latitudes. There was a stone-lined path leading to the coastline so I decided to take it as far as light permitted. The distance looked farther than I originally thought but the path soon opened to the cliff’s edge. Now beyond the protection of the stone walls, I was buffeted by what were probably 40 mph gusts amongst 20-25 mph sustained winds. I carefully staggered along the coastal foot path for 50 yards in both directions. It was difficult to hold the camera still enough to take shots so I braced myself against stone walls and wooden rails to capture some frames. Walking within a few yards of the a steep drop off, the comfort of strong landward winds were abruptly displaced by calmer spells which allowed me to lurch unexpectedly seaward. Despite butterflies in the stomach, I extended my walk because the view was so grand and I was mindful that I would not have the opportunity to capture this experience ever again. I returned back to the room and we made plans for dinner. Vivienne had given us a few options so we drove to our first choice, the Mill House since it was just around the corner. Unfortunately, the high season had just ended and they stopped serving dinner by the time we arrrived. Our second choice was Charlie’s but we knew they were already closed because the young couple running the establishment had to shut down early to get their little one tucked in for the evening. The third choice was The Prince William Bar and Restaurant. I was again pleased and surprised to find it listed under local places to eat in the Garmin so I tagged it as a favorite and hit the “Go” button. The SatNav lead us for a few miles along a dark and winding misty route. The road broke steeply up and to the left as the Garmin announced the arrival of our final destination. Cars littered both sides of the road. Inshore, vehicles hugged a jagged face blasted from the steep slope. Seaward, vehicles were plastered against a sturdily engineered stone wall. I speculated the remaining space in between was not enough for me to pilot without risk of rearview mirrors kissing or worse. The lights of a Mercedes sedan along the wall suddenly lit up. Sweet. When the driver pulled out, I had ample of room to get by an make the all too familiar 3-4 point turn and nestle tightly against the wet rock wall leaving just enough room for Cindi to get out and step onto a small patch of grass. We entered the restaurant and were comforted to find a decent crowd for a Tuesday night in this remote area. The Waitress promptly led us by a large saltwater fish tank and past a group of low, casual tables encircled by a built-in vinyl clad sofa. A hip wall separated our booth from the requisite billiards area. Incandescent lights bounced off of the green felt of the pool tables casting soft shadows over fishing paraphenalia and vintage black and white photos hung on the walls. The decor was similar to a typical Mike’s American Grill. The atmosphere was much to the contrary. The oars, nets, lanterns and cross-sections of skiffs were obviously from local shores. They were steeped in decades of native brine and varnished with the sweat and oils of wise and weathered hands. Although tastefully hung for commercial purposes, they retained an unfading imprint of life, a persistence of memory, and still spoke of distant memories. We squinted at the menu for a minute before realizing that we both had brought our reading glasses. Our choices were simple and I went up to the bar to place them and order drinks. The women at the bar passed our requests to the kitchen and began to pour a glass of wine for Cindi and a local beer for me. We exchanged small talk as she attended to her duties. There must have been a Rt. 66 neon sign behind her because our conversation Six point parking after Mercedes leaves room to pass by Seated Place dinner order Went to bar for white wine and beer Conversation with lady at bar (owner’s wife) Husband arrives Conversation with owner at bar about route 66 adventure Tried to interrupt so I could get Cindi her glass of wine. Cindi arrives at bar inquiring about my delay. Get wine and beer, go back to table but other couple sitting in our seat Politely explain situation to couple (reading glasses on table to confirm) Couple moves to nearby table