London. Finally.

OK, so had I written this the moment we had returned, I would have pages and pages to write. But I didn't. So here are the London highlights, mercifully much shorter than anticipated:


The Beer Hotel

We stayed at Fullers, a pretty hotel owned by Fuller's Brewery, perched right on top of a Fuller's pub and with two big, fat Fuller's waiting for us when we came back to the Hotel at night. And the shepherd's pie -- (say in Homer-Simpson voice) ummmmmmmmmmmmmm, shepherd's pie.

Pictured: A few blocks away from our hotel. Behind me are Parliment and Big Ben.


All the Dead People

Pictured: In the gardens of the Abby.

We were a block or so away from Westminster Abby. It was one of our first stops. And beautiful. We spent an entire morning touring the Abby. And of course, with my sitting-in-the-front-row-with-my-hand-raised personality, I had to ask questions. Want to know why so many of the statues are missing their fingers? Because, up until a few decades ago, people thought it was OK to pop them off and take them home as souvenirs. Yech.

The most emotional spot for me was the stained glass window decorated with figures of U.S airmen from WW2. The original window was blown out during the war. The new one was installed to honor the U.S. airmen who gave their lives in Europe. Touching to see our military honored in an icon of British history.

On the downside, every historical spot in England has to do with bloody, gruesome, multiple murders. After a while, I couldn't take it anymore. So our planned tour of the Tower of London consisted of walking around the outside of it and taking pictures.

Harry Potter

I'm a geek. So we stopped in a phone booth and I dialed the code to get into the Ministry of Magic. Didn't work. Sigh.

Pictured: We spotted some swans while walking around Salisbury, near Stonehenge.

Amazing Famous Stuff We Bumped Into

Pictured: In front of the Elgin Marbles.

1. Cleopatra's Needle -- just walking down the street and there is was.

2. One of the Magna Carta. We took a day trip to Stonehenge and spent the day walking around in the medieval town next to it. We went to look at the cathedral (not only the tallest building in the middle ages but also one of the few structures not blown up during WW2 because the Germans were using it for navigation). We're walking into it and around the grounds and here's a sign, "Magna Carta" with an arrow pointing into a room off the cathedral. There is it. Protected by glass and docents. We were rather impressed.

3. The graves of Shakespeare and of Edmund Haley (the latter with a bronze comet on it).

Pictured: In front of the Cathedral that holds one of the Magna Carta.

4. Scotland Yard. We walked by it everyday on our way back to the hotel.

5. A head from Easter Island, the Elgin marbles and the Roseta Stone (all residing in the British Museum, or as my husband named it "The Museum of Yoink." Absolutely EVERYTHING in there is stolen from another country. When I first saw the marbles and realized what they were, I accidentally said (much too loudly) "Oh my God, they need to give these baaaaaack." The docents shot me dirty looks.

Pictured: In the Museum of Yoink, studying a chess set. If it looks familiar, it was used as a model for Wizard's Chess. Also, it's a zillion years old.

6. A lot more I can't remember now and will add later.

Most Hoity-Toity Moment

Tea at Kinsington Palace. Bless my husband for eating cucumber sandwiches with a smile.

Pictured: Squirrel Nutkin on the grounds of Kensington Palace.

My Husband's Favorite Stop

The Royal Observatory in Greenwich, which is on the Prime Meridian. It was really cool. I was impressed. We stood on the Prime Meridian, used a camera obscura, watched a planetarium show and then MrKnotty and their planetarium director talked shop. Also, the architecture was astounding.

Most Frustrating Thing About London

There are no street signs. Just vague "this street might be this way" signs.

That, and the tube shutting down on our second day because someone left a backpack somewhere. Which meant we had to figure our way on the street. See "no street signs" above.

Thank You to Author Conan Doyle

Because of whom I went to the pub across from the British Museum (it's in one of his stories) and had the most fantastic fish and chips with mushy peas ever. And a lot of beer.

Pictured: With our beer samples in the Museum Pub.

Longest Awaited Moment

When I was living in my tiny cabin in Alaska, I got a Jamie Oliver cookbook. Somehow, out of our laughable supplies, I made Jamie's tomato and roasted red pepper soup with his artichoke salad on the side. My friends and I thought it was the best thing we had eaten in years. I wished I could taste his actual cooking to see if I had come close.

Our last night in London, my husband took me to Jamie's restaurant, 15. From before dinner drinks, to antipasti, lamb, fish, dessert and champagne, it was amazing. I was so happy I seriously could not tone down the smile that was plastered across my face. People kept asking us what the occasion was. I think I looked like I had just gotten engaged. My souvenir was Jamie's newest cookbook (which I have now used many times).

What Else?

We saw Avenue Q in the West End. It was so funny, my husband was literally crying and almost fell out of his seat.

We went to Harrod's. Tacky. Not impressive.

Stonehenge was awesome.

The train stations have little convenience stores called "The Pumpkin." They are really cute and I had a fantastic croissant with ham and Swiss there. (I know it sounds gross to eat from a convenience store but it was good -- and it was called "The Pumpkin." I mean, come on. How cute is that?)

We went to Platform 9 3/4 in King's Cross, bought Christmas Crackers for our families in a department store, had English breakfast everyday (fried eggs, bacon, baked tomoato, baked mushrooms and baked beans with toast and tea), got lost and saw some really cool buildings, and snuck into St. Paul's while it was closed, got caught and kicked out. Also, many people assumed I was British and showing Mr. Knotty around. I blame my pasty white skin.

Also, we walked. A lot. Which was great because I went to bed every night exhausted.

I had a wonderful time. Even on our flight back (yay, British Airlines! Wine, a four course dinner, fuzzy slippers and tons of movies. You had me at "allo.") was fun and relaxing. I'm fan of England.

Day Two: Hill Top

We woke up in England for the first time. Cocooned in fluffy warmness of the big puffy bed, I was sooooo comfortable but way too excited to sleep. Stepping out of the shower I discovered another perk -- our towels were resting on a towel warmer. Yay, Drunken Duck!

Apple trees (I think they were apples) blooming in front of the windows of our room).

We stumbled downstairs, saying good morning to the house cat, and into the dining room for our first English Breakfast: sausage (made from the pigs over the hill) sunnyside up eggs, toast, homemade blackberry jam, baked tomato, English bacon (which looks and tastes a lot like Canadian bacon - but better) and, of course, TEA! I had the vegetarian sausage made from lentils and MrKnotty had the real deal. Delicious, delicious!

Part of the kitchen gardens of The Duck. There were peppers, rosemary, thyme, basil, mint, strawberries and just about every other herb imaginable.

We packed up our things, left them at the front desk, stuffed ourselves into the tiny car and headed for Hill Top, Beatrix Potter's home in the town of Near Sawrey. We team-drove, but my "Too close!" was now more of an "eek!" than an "AHHHH!"

The fake made-for-the-movie-Miss-Potter-Hill Top

To gain admittance to Hill Top, you first stop at the office, a small house down the road from Hill Top and directly next to a replica of Hill Top, used for the movie Miss Potter. As we had been advised to arrive early, we were the second couple in line, sandwiched between two British couples. We struck up a conversation with the older couple behind us, who wanted our input on the recent bank failing and the American presidential race. They told us we had arrived just in time -- a bus carrying more than 80 Japenise tourist were on their way from their hotel and would be arriving shortly. The wife made a reference to the Japenise remembering how beautiful England was from the last time they were here (persumably, a reverence to WWII from her tone) and her husband told her it wasn't appropriate in front of company.

The door opened and we purchased our tickets -- from the same woman we had purchased tickets to the gallery the day before in Hawkshead. She recognized us as well and encouraged us to buy National Trust memberships if we planned to keep up like this. I breifly imagined leaving the U.S. forever and becoming an ex-pat with an English accent, taking tea every afternoon and picking berries from the hillside. MrKnotty snapped me out of it by reminding me that the KnottyKitties were waiting for us at home. Even then, fresh fluffy scones have an allure of their own...

We walked up the road, passing Beatrix's working farmland on the way. I highly encourage you to enlarge this picture -- you'll see the sheep to MrKnotty's left and gorgeous cottages in the hillside.

A bit of walking later and we discovered the path up to the house, walking through the garden. This is the house she purchased after publishing Peter Rabbit, but the majority of her book were written here. Walking through the garden, was like walking directly into a picture book and I began to remember feelings I hadn't had since childhood. I realized that my idea of fairy stories and make-believe looked just like this -- and must have formed in my head at an early age from the pictures in her books. In short, I had the distinct feeling of walking into Farmer MacGregor's garden.

We arrived at the front door to find it was not yet opened. Speaking with the other couples who were waiting, they all said that as we traveled the farthest to be here, we should be the first inside -- which was very kind of them.

And so, when the door opened we stepped into the cozy two-story, as though we were walking into a friend's home -- void of tourist, other than ourselves, and with the company of of two docents. Everything in the home, from the dark hardwood floors to the stone fireplace and old wooden rocker in the corner, was exactly as she had left it, just as she insisted when leaving it to the National Trust. In the windowsills were copies of her books, open to pages inspired by those rooms. So look in the china cabinet, then look at the Tale of Tom Kitten, and there's the teapot and the dining room table -- exactly as they appear in the book. Look out the window at the hills and back at the book, and there's the same hill and, remarkably, the same trees, albet bigger. We walked upstairs and around in every corner. The rugs, the bed, the quilts -- all there. Exactly like walking into a book.

Coming back around and down the stairs, the home was now filled with tourists, so we stepped outside and into the garden where a light rain had begun to fall. There was Farmer M's watering can, and rows of tidy vegetables. We walked in circles, my desire to stay batteling with my desire to enjoy it on my own without having to remember it as crowded with the throngs of loud and very hand-sy-pushy tourists.

We headed out the path, passing Tom Kitten's gate on the way and into the gift shop, where the crowd descended and I was literally knocked against the wall by the ensuing crowd. And chose to stay there until they passed. We made a few purchases and then, rather than head back to The Duck, took a long walk through the countryside.

Through fields and up and around little homes, each with their own blooming gardens.

Past herds of sheep and several cows. Into a huge monster of a mud puddle, under trees turning orange and gold with the fall, occasionally passing another couple who, from the mud on their boots, must have come the same way.

We spent most of the morning this way until we felt certain that if we didn't turn around, we would never catch our evening train from Manchester to London. We said goodbye to the great people at The Duck, and threw our belongings into the back of the tiny car.

Took a wrong turn at some point, saw some astounding hills with waterfalls.

Stopped to take a picture of a rainbow and eventually, pulled up to the Manchester airport, dropped off our car, and jumped on our train to London.

Our trip across the pond - Day one

I have to admit it. We are officially back from England. It was a fabulous trip. We saw tons of really cool, old stuff, ate wonderful food (yes, their food is good) and, as predicted, I was speaking with an English accent the moment we hit Customs. I can't help it. The theatre is second nature to me.

Of course, there had to be Drama Making Our Flight. Luckily, it was of the knitting nature.

You can't take any sort of needles on a plane -- except bamboo. No problem, because I have lots of projects and lots of needles. Except that two hours before we are to leave I realize that out of my eighty jillion balls of yarn and four jillion needles, there is nary a project with matching bamboo needles. Not a one. Envisioning an insomoniac cross-ocean flight of hell, I panic. And then I began calling Loops before it opened. Over and over. Like a mantra. A prayer.

As we head toward the airport, me twitching like a Tourette's sufferer, my husband suggests swinging by Loops. Just in case. Because he is a saint.

On my last of many manic-dials, Gina answers. And is soon waiting at the desk with a set of size 2 dpns. Which I swoop up and literally run with to the waiting car.

Our flight was totally pleasant. No one lost our luggage, or kicked our chairs or smelled funny (wait for it in the flight back...) and I got to knit of set of fingerless mittens (photo to come).

We landed in Manchester and after waiting fourty five minutes for our rental car to move from the fifth floor of the lot to the first floor (Ahem. And the driver looked a tad on the I Hate My Job and Will Drive Around with My Lads if I Want To, Oye! - nature) took off for the Lake District. Then we stopped. Because they gave us only a quarter of a tank of gas. Thanks, Enterprise!

We fuel up. And notice smoke coming out from under the hood. Yes, smoke. We hadn't noticed before because of the pouring rain. MrKnotty pops the hood. The smoke stops. He can find no cause for it. We have no working cell phone. We have no Plan B. So we decide to drive on. For the first time in my life, I pray some small animal met it's untimely but unobtrusive, smoky death on the engine -- which would explain the smoke and not make me a bad person.

My job was navigator. It included following along with the map and occasionally screaming "Too close!" whenever the left side of the car approached the curb, a ditch or, in many cases, an ivy-covered stone wall.

Somehow, it all works out. And through a series of seriously tight roads with lots of scary turns ("Too close! Too close!") (really, these are narrow winding driveways with two lanes of opposing traffic) we reach our destination: The Drunken Duck Inn.

We officially love The Duck, as everyone calls it. They have upgraded us to a suite. And got our room ready early for us. While we waited in the parlor drinking tea and relaxing with the cat.

MrKnotty. In the parlor. With the cat.

Then we unloaded our stuff, shook off the airplane-ness, and took off for Hawkshead, home of the Beatrix Potter Gallery, William Wordsworth's grammar school and a really old church.

Aside from the rain, it was a beautiful day. But without rain, it wouldn't be the so green. Or England.

So here's a bit of Hawkshead. The Beatrix Potter Gallery is in the former offices of her husband, a lawyer named Mr. Heelix. He was the man she married after her first fiance, a man her mother didn't approve of, died. Her mom didn't approve of Mr Heelix either but at that point, it appears Beatrix told her the Victorian equilivant of "stuff it."

In the gallery were lots and lots of the original illustrations for the Peter Rabbit stories and various bits of original furniture. It was small and dark and very cozy.

And here's the church, surrounded by gravestones, perched atop a hill and looking down over the town.

The whole town looked like a studio backlot. So quaint it couldn't be real. I wanted to knock open a door to see if live-action Wallace and Grommits were setting up tea and cheese inside.

It was wonderful. And peaceful. We wandered. And shopped. And took in the Englishness of it all. And, when I had regained my courage, Chris scooted me back into the car and we drove to The Duck for afternoon tea.

Which was lovely. The jam was made fresh from local berries. The scones were light and fluffy. The tea was fantastic and even MrKnotty, an avid avoider of hot tea, enjoyed it immensly.

Inside the Duck for tea, joined by locals with their doggies.

We were afraid that if we didn't keep moving, we would fall asleep, so we decided to take a walk after tea.

The Duck is nestled right into the hills, surrounded by farmland. These photos were taken right outside.

We walked a lot. Walking was big on this trip. Sort of our theme. Although it might sound tiring, we loved it. It was so peaceful. Surrounded by these fairy-tale-like settings and without any deadlines to worry about or cell phones to ring.

Sheep were big here too. All over the countryside. They were everywhere. I think I now have as many sheep pictures as I have pictures of my cats. So I guess if I was born British, my parents would have worried I'd grow up to be a crazy sheep lady.

These wild blackberries were growing everywhere. I wanted to try one but we didn't have time to fit an ER visit into the schedule.

We walked until dinnertime and returned to the Inn. To find fresh plums and cookies in our room. Doesn't The Duck rock? It also has a four-star restaurant which uses all local ingredients.

We had a big dinner. I can't remember specifics, but I can remember deliciuos oysters, lamb, lentils and wine. And that it was really good. Also, I was so tired, I convinced myself I was having an allergic reaction. Until the owner assured me there were no anchovies in the building. And I shut up. And began to really relax. I love, love England.

End Day One.