Day 10 England/Paris Trip – Monday, 5/23/2011

 The New Forest and Winchester; places never found and a surprise ruin.

(Mr. Kim’s contributions are italicized.)

And so continues the seemingly never ending saga of our spring 2011 trip to England and Paris – picked up again in summer 2014!

The plan for the day was to go to see the Old Harry Rocks near Swanage, drive through the New Forest and arrive at Winchester where we were to spend one night.  And, mostly, that’s what we did.  With a few detours and surprises.  We are neither of us huge fans of recreated history – me even less than Mr. Kim.  Reenactments and ladies in hoop skirts and, for goodness sakes renaissance festivals make my teeth itch (if you haven’t noticed by now, I am a tad intolerant).  Only of the things you don’t like.  What we do love is lovingly preserved history (like all the churches we haunted on this trip) and ruins.  We adore ruins.  But we hadn’t seen any.  So when Mr. Kim happened to notice Corfe Castle ruins on a map at our Dorchester hotel, we decided to let Jeeves lead us there.  It was on our route.  And I’m so glad that we did.  Not only were there cool ruins for us to clamber about, but the ruins are set into the second most charming village (Painswick in the Cotswolds being the first) we visited.  As a matter of fact, I found my house:

 I am sure that I lived there at some point in a past life.  As soon as I spied it, I thought, “Oh, THERE it is.”  Much like the first time I laid eyes on Mr. Kim – “THERE you are, I’ve been waiting for you.”  I have even Googled it and found that it sold for almost a half a million pounds in November of 2011 – just 6 months after we were there.  Am I creepy to be stalking a HOUSE?  Anyway, lucky folks – I hope they are happy and cherishing their beautiful cottage.

The village was utterly lovely and full of beautiful houses and shops and a couple of incredibly old pubs.  Apparently the owners of the two pubs had some sort of professional disagreement, as one of the two had a large sign on the door declaring that it was the OLDEST pub in Corfe.  We could have wandered for the entire day.  But we had a ruin to get to:

The ruins of Corfe Castle loom above the village of the same name.  Looking either protective or threatening, I’d guess depending on the political or actual weather.  Corfe Castle was built by William the Conqueror in the 11^th century.  During the English Civil war (1642-1651) it belonged to a royalist, whose wife, Lady Mary Bankes defended the castle from the Roundheads.  The first defense was successful, but the second was not.  According to the Oracle of Oracles (Wikipedia):   “His wife, Lady Mary Bankes, led the defense of the castle when it was twice besieged by Parliamentarian forces. The first siege, in 1643, was unsuccessful, but by 1645 Corfe was one of the last remaining royalist strongholds in southern England and fell to a siege ending in an assault. In March that year Corfe Castle was demolished on Parliament's orders. Owned by the National Trust, the castle is open to the public and in 2010 received around 190,000 visitors. It is protected as a Grade I listed building and a Scheduled Ancient Monument.”

Fell to a siege indeed….  According to the docents, the second siege defense was also formidable.  But the Lady Bankes’ castellan, apparently not interested in smelling his neighbors for another year, betrayed his Mistress.  He offered to go parlay with the London Army on her behalf.  Taking 50 of her best defenders with him and leaving them outside as he met with the opposing commander, he made a pact with the enemy to lead 50 soldiers in his own soon-to-be-quietly-slaughtered compatriots’ garments back into the castle in exchange for amnesty, lands, and titles.  This bastard betrayed his Lady and the Crown for personal gain.

It was an exceeding blustery day, though bright with sunshine.  We had to wait below to get the OK to go up to the castle – they were testing the wind speed.  And even with the go-ahead, there were times when I, at least, felt a little unsteady.  Climbing crumbling stone stairs in a gale is a bit intimidating.  But it was magnificent.  The view from up there was breathtaking and we climbed and poked about for more than an hour marveling at the remaining construction and the beauty of the setting.  Some favorite pictures:

 I know I tend to romanticize, but there was a definite mood or spirit or stillness in this place.  The pictures do not do it justice.  So many structures of the same period are still standing elsewhere.  This castle was murdered by Cromwell’s troops, left to be forgotten.  But I think it still has something to say.

After a delightful (and hair-raising) ramble, it was time for a snack:

A natter with the locals:

And a drive down to Swanage to see the Old Harry Rocks:

Except we didn’t.  We found Swanage.  And according to our map, we just had to follow the coast north/northeast and there it would be.  White cliffs, three chalk formations – bigger than houses.  But, alas, not for us.  Either the map was wrong, or we were dense, or the whole place just Brigadooned on us.  But for whatever reason, it was not to be found.  I was sorry to miss it because I knew that Mr. Kim would be entranced, but I was determined that for this vacation there would be no regrets, no pining.  So we tossed it off and set out for the New Forest and whatever delights (including lunch) that would hold for us. 

If you look at a map of the area, you will see a little bit of water that needs to be gotten across where the English Channel meets Poole Harbor.  This is where you take a ferry boat.  When we got to the terminal, the boat was already docked and loading cars.  We got on near the end.  With all the cars ahead of us, all we could see was either side of the boat.  With some clanks and groans, the ferry got under way.  We took a few pictures:

And discussed getting out to stretch our legs, see the sights and maybe find a bar to have a pint.  Please keep in mind that we had never been here before, that we couldn’t see in front of us and that distances on maps are notoriously difficult to discern.  As we were debating our next activity, we arrived at our destination and docked.  The crossing was FOUR MINUTES long.  I Googled it.  I am so glad that we didn’t amble out of our car and wander around like we were on a cruise.  Goobers.

Bournemouth is not a particularly huge city.  Certainly bigger than we’d been in so far and other than London a much larger, busier and more congested than any place in England that Mr. Kim had had to drive in.  We didn’t get lost, exactly.  But we did see the same square block of Bournemouth a goodly number of times.  It wasn’t that we couldn’t see where we were supposed to go.   It was that we couldn’t maneuver to GET where we were supposed to go.  So Mr. Kim kept making tight left turns after left turn, hoping to catch a break to get across a six lane.  Jeeves got a bit sharp with us.  His tone when he kept having to repeat, “recalculating” was rather abrupt.  As Mr. Kim put it, “traffic, fecking traffic”.  We managed to escape the clutches of Bournemouth and were off to the New Forest.  The Forest is both a national park and an area dotted with lovely villages and towns.  It was set aside as a royal hunting ground in 1079 by William I.  There are all sorts of beasties roaming around – deer, ponies, cattle, pigs, donkeys.  Some are wild and others owned, but apparently free to graze anywhere they like.  The Forest in its wildest parts is hauntingly beautiful:

And when those wild ponies decide to amble across a road, you just sit and marvel:

We had lunch at the Old Farmhouse in Burley:

(Punch Buggy!)

Burley was a bit new agey/witchy for my tastes (there goes that intolerant thing again) – it even has a dragon’s lair.  Itchy teeth territory again.  But it was utterly charming.  And lunch was delicious.  The building that the restaurant is in was built in the 16^th century with classic thick walls and low beamed ceilings.  I had the most delicious ham – Tatchberry Farm (local) and another rendition of perfect eggs.  Not once in England did I get an egg that was cooked less than perfect.  Amazing:

Mr. Kim had English lasagna:

I finally understand Ted’s spaghetti.  He never really cared much for Momma’s spaghetti or lasagna.  He’d say it was different than he was used to.  Once, I remember, he made what he called English spaghetti.  To me, at 13, it seemed a very dull dish.  Not very tomato-y, no garlic, no oregano.  Very bland.  But the grown up me liked this version very much.  Meaty and with a much finer mince of beef, it was very savory and satisfying. 

I had seen lasagna on the menu of every pub and casual place we’d eaten.  At first I thought it was quaint, sort of an alternative grudgingly added to pub grub.  You know, like the obligatory beef or chicken dish at your average American seafood restaurant.  By this point in the trip, I had been worn down by curiosity and know I just HAD to try it once before we left.  I liked it a lot.  It was really more like a pastichio in texture than a lasagna, and was a refreshing addition to the other culinary experiences on the trip.

Then it was on to Lyndhurst – the capital of the New Forest.  We wander around the interesting New Forest Museum and Gallery and down the High street.  I found one of the things on my England wish list – Lily of the Valley talc.  Talc is really hard to find in the US, but still available at any drug store in the UK.  It may be old fashioned, but I use it every day and don’t wish to smell like Johnson’s baby powder.  In the same store we found these:

Where in the US would you still find Coty’s L’Aimant and big, butch tissues?  There was also a Maserati dealership.  Such an odd thing to come across in a small town in the middle of a national forest. 

As we stood there trying to decide which Maserati was the one we wanted to have shipped back home for us, we glanced back up the street we had just descended.  To our surprise, the view was familiar.  We quickly realized that we HAD seen that view before.  A year earlier, when we started planning the trip, I changed the background on our computer at the house.  I searched out pics for “new forest” and it yielded a nice photo that I co-opted.  We were now, apparently standing in the exact same location as the photographer that had snapped that pic:

The Forest was yet another place that we could have spent days in if we’d had more time.  I honestly don’t see how English people ever manage to get to Spain and Greece, not to mention Australia and the US with this kind of place on their doorstep.  As I said to someone, had we been to England in our 20’s – before we had so many obligations (family, financial), we would have moved heaven and earth to relocate.  I would still be an expat in a minute if I could afford it.  Um, small Corfe house, half a million pounds.  Ain’t gonna happen, unfortunately.  I don’t see why we still have a single wealthy person in the US (sorta kidding, there).

Off to Winchester.  Our accommodations thus far had been very, very nice.  From Craig’s lovely flat, to our dream house Cotswold cottage to the two very old coach house/inns we stayed at in Salisbury and Dorchester we had no cause for complaint.  All we knew from our travel agent was the name and address for the place in Winchester.  It was called Lainston House.  I had looked it up only and knew that it was a beautiful manor house.  We had already had a full day when we arrived.  Climbing around Corfe Castle ruins in a gale, that long ferry ride (smile), the drive and wander through the New Forest.  So when we drove up this half mile long drive:

Through these gates:

And saw THIS:

 Well, we felt abashed and country mousey, indeed.  We contemplated turning around and finding a posh store for new clothes to wear to check in.  

This is Lainston House.  We decided that our travel agent must have something on the owners because this absolutely gorgeous place didn’t cost us any more than any other place we stayed. It was truly luxurious – with a helipad, a spa, endless grounds, gardens, a chapel ruin and a resident falconer!!! As I sank my tired self into the 6 foot tub that night, I told Mr. Kim that I wasn’t leaving EVER.   The staff couldn’t have been friendlier or less stuffy.  We felt very welcome. 

Lainston House was built in 1683 by Christopher Wren.  It was commissioned by Charles II and was lived in by him and his mistress Louise de Keroualle until he died in 1685. 

Kim, wasn’t this room the servants’ quarters?

Our room, Hydrangea, was gorgeous.  It was way up in the attics, with slanted ceilings – possibly former servants quarters.  Though no servant ever had such a richly appointed room:

Like the room in Salisbury, this room had a cutaway to show some of the original daubing and beams from earlier days.  The Plexiglas covering it was spotless, and I couldn’t help but contemplate the number of subtle changes over the years and the folks who had seen them.  And now this room, for this moment, was OURS!

One of our views:

Even the bathroom was posh.  A walk in shower big enough to please any House Hunters participant,   marble sink, commode and bidet.  And that tub I was talking about:

It was so long that I couldn’t brace myself against the end and was in danger of drowning when it was full.  Sybaritic heaven.  But I couldn’t make good my promise to permanently reside in that tub because we were starving.  

Someone at eGullet had recommended the Chesil Rectory in Winchester for dinner, so off we went.  Because we wanted to have the freedom to be spontaneous, we made very few restaurant reservations in England – really just two in London.  We figured that if we couldn’t eat at our first choice, there was always going to be a pub and we were fine with that.  Here we found yet another example of the kindness of people.  We wander into this elegant restaurant, which specializes in fine modern English cuisine.  We are dressed decently, but not elegantly.  Our butts are dragging a bit.  And we have no reservations.  We have a policy of politeness.  We ask if something is possible – no expectations of special treatment.  We don’t have a reservation, but do they maybe have room for 2 for dinner.  They are expecting a large party very soon and really don’t.  But they fit us in at a tiny 2-top upstairs.  As we sit, the tables around begin to fill up with people who all know each other.  And the staff continues to give us excellent service.  Bringing us beautiful, scrumptious food – one of the best meals we have had in our lives.  No hurry, no rush.  We feel free to stay as long as we like.  We don’t, though I could have sat all night sipping wine and gazing at the restaurant.  The building was built in the Middle Ages, between 1425 and 1450 and is the oldest commercial property in Winchester.  The building has been owned by, among others, Henry VIII and Mary Tudor.  The front, which except for the windows, is original:

Our drive back to Lainston House included sightings of rabbits, owls and some unidentifiable birds with red faces. 

Our travels that day – even counting the getting lost not finding the Old Harry Rocks and NOT getting lost in Bournemouth totaled just about 100 miles.  It felt like much more.  We had a full day planned for the next day – more Lainston House exploration, Winchester Cathedral and back to London (sigh).  So we snuggled up and snoozed away the night in our unfamiliar, but very comfortable and luxurious surroundings. 

You’re going to stop here???  But I was going to talk about the smells when we awoke, and the gardens and….  Okay, if you’ll promise we are going to finish this tale some day, I’ll keep my powder dry ’til Day 11.

ANYONE THERE???

They say if you wait to have a baby until your life is completely settled and everything is perfect, you will die childless.  While I would never urge someone to make a life-changing decision before they are really ready for it, there is some wisdom in that homily.  I have been waiting to blog until the time is JUST RIGHT.  Until my life is more settled, until there are no major projects or holidays looming, until there are no demands on my time, until I am more organized.  And you know, that’s just not going to happen in my life. 

I have this romantic picture of myself as a ‘writer’ (a title I am hardly entitled to, but I prefer it to ‘blogger’).  I am sitting in a cozy, well-appointed and spotlessly clean study.  Tea and cookies are by my side.  I’m writing long hand with a fountain pen in a beautiful journal (I told you it was romantic).  When I take a break to sip my tea, I look out the window to see a perfect cottage garden.  Oh, and my cat and dog snooze peacefully by the fire.  I have no idea who cleaned the house, brought the tea and cookies or created the garden.  No one would describe my home as spotless.  I would love a garden, but have no interest in working at it.  And I ‘write’ on a laptop at our dining room table.  I do have a window, but the view is of a pine tree, a scraggly azalea bush, some dead tree and moss where grass should be. 

So my life is never going to be without the things that keep me busy (nor would I want it to) and my cozy little study doesn’t exist.  Do I just give up and let this blog be one of the millions that peter out?  Do I make grand promises to sit down for an hour every day?  No to both.  I love this blog too much to just let it go.  If no one in the world but me read it, I would still love it and go back to it to let the memories flow over me.  But I’ve made promises before and not kept them.  So – no promises, but here is maybe a new beginning. To me, the heart and soul of this blog is our trip in 2011 to England and Paris.  Getting back to that WILL take some organization and preparation.  The memories are almost as fresh as the day we got back, but I need to look at notes and photos for the details. 

So, I’ll try.  I’ll get out my notes and pamphlets and pull up the pictures and, who knows, we may find ourselves in Winchester!

Day 9 England/Paris Trip

Coastal Day – Fossils, Cliffs and CREAM TEA!

(Mr. Kim’s comments in italics.)


(Internet picture)

It’s not easy getting into this again. So much LIFE intervened and I had to put away all my notes and folders and books and pamphlets. I’ve gotten them all back out, but my brain is being balky. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little creaky at first.

I don’t understand your problem. I remember our trip as if it were yesterday…. The cheesesteak sandwiches, seeing the Liberty Bell, the side trip to the Jersey shore…. No need to review the notes!

This was our first full day in Dorchester, but we spent almost no time there at all. We got up, had another wonderful breakfast and hit the road.

We drove back through quiet little Chideock and along the sea to Charmouth, a beautiful coastal village. Charmouth’s big draw is fossil hunting. On what is called the Jurassic Coast – England’s first natural World Heritage Site – Charmouth is home to the Charmouth Heritage Centre. The Centre is full of fossils and fossil hunting advice and a good place for sissy Americans to dive into when the rain starts. The Brits, of course, just Carry On. This is truly a gorgeous and wild looking coastline:

and we loved wandering up and down the beach searching the strewn rocks for fossils. We didn’t find a thing, but brought home a few interesting looking bits and pieces for The Child and Mr. Kim’s mom. For a country noted for its soggy weather, we couldn’t complain about the rain – it was a cold downpour but only lasted an hour or two. It was the only time the entire trip we had rain during daylight hours.

Just west of Charmouth is Lyme Regis, our next destination. Lyme Regis is still considered a village, but seemed large to us, having become used to the little one-main-road burgs we had been driving through. A gorgeous town, with charming houses, gardens and shops that spill down from the cliffs to the beautiful seaside.




I especially fell in love with this pink cottage and its gorgeous garden:








It was certainly bustling with people on that sunshiny Sunday. Families, young couples, old folks – all intent on enjoying the good weather while it lasted.

We did find some tranquil spots. The church of the day was St. Michael the Archangel:

Perched on a hill with a spectacular view and benches for quiet contemplation:


St. Michael’s is a beautiful, light-filled building with lovely stained glass, tapestries and paintings. What I found particularly unusual were the gorgeous decorations on the façade of the case holding the organ pipes:





The color in the picture is true – quite pastel and what you might not be able to make out is that parts of them were actually metallic. Really remarkable.

St. Michael’s churchyard is the burial place of Mary Anning. I vaguely remembered hearing about her and the story is interesting. She was born in 1799 in Lyme Regis into a working class family of fossil collectors. At the age of 12, she and her brother found one of the first ever ichthyosaur skeletons. She worked at fossil collecting her whole life, without any formal education and was known throughout Europe as a collector and dealer. Being a woman and poor, she couldn’t belong to the organizations and publications that men could. And yet the fossil crazed world of the early 19th century seemingly beat a path to her door to buy the artifacts that she found and to consult her on geology and anatomy.

We wandered around the streets and shops of Lyme Regis and strolled the promenade. Lyme Regis is exactly the kind of place that I’d vacation at if I lived in England. It was yet another place that I wished we had more time to explore. Some more favorite shots:










We had a little snack at the Mulberry Manor Bakery on Broad Street. Since I knew that I was going to get a cream tea, come hell or high water, we didn’t want a lot and shared a gorgeous beef and bleu cheese pasty and a flaky, crisp cheese straw. We might not have gotten as far as Cornwall, but I thought that pasty was awfully good:


She didn’t want any part of it, but I couldn’t resist a tart little marinated pepper stuffed with cheese.



One small curiosity captured my attention on the walk back to the car. In a large but otherwise unremarkable building we saw this:


I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out, although everyone I have shown the picture to has tumbled to it immediately. This is a public mail slot in the former post office, one of the oldest in the country.

What can I say, simple things amuse me.

On to Beer. Not the drink, but the village (though Mr. Kim had fun taking pictures of every sign with the word ‘Beer’ on it – he especially liked The Beer Social Club and the Beer Coast Guard). My Aunt Mary lives in Beer. Unfortunately, she happened to be in the States during our trip. We didn’t coordinate very well and we were all so disappointed to have missed a visit. Beer is a small village built around a small cove. Like Lyme Regis, it is hilly with the car park being built on a fairly high cliff. We parked and hiked down to the main street:


Fore Street. Packed with shops and tea rooms:


and finishing up at the water:




Kim stayed up on a bench at street level (and I do mean up – the shore fell away precipitously) while I walked down to the sea. Besides the larger fishing boats, there were lots of little rental single masters and outboard boats. I thought it would be fun to take one out, though it was too late in the day and there were none for rent then. I can imagine an earlier time, when Londoners on holiday would come to Lyme Regis and maybe take out a boat for a morning. Or perhaps not – it may be that recreational boating is only a recent arrival in this fishing village. But it is fun to imagine.





I turned and looked at how far I had to climb to get back to Kim and was quite ready to find a pub.

We wandered up Fore Street, captivated again by the cottages and gardens (and Mr. Kim vigilantly on the look-out for more funny ‘Beer’ signs). A sample:








We found where my aunt lives and even met one of her neighbors, who very kindly recommended The Captain’s Cottage on Fore Street for our cream tea.

A short primer on ‘TEA’ may be needed here. Not to sound snooty, but ‘TEA’ as a meal is something that Americans get wrong most often. They tend to talk about ‘High Tea’, when they really mean ‘Afternoon Tea’. ‘High Tea’ is just dinner – an evening meal with a main course of fish or meat. Cake and tea afterwards, of course – it IS England, after all. The tea meal that consists of delectable little sandwiches (TEA sandwiches) and cakes and tea is actually ‘Afternoon Tea’ and almost no one has that anymore except as a treat or a party. Or, of course, desperately Anglophile little girls, enraptured by English storybooks and cobbling together a tea of Wonder Bread, Miracle Whip and cucumbers served with hot Lipton.

A cream tea is another thing entirely. Eaten anytime you like, from what I can see – and you should have it as often as you possibly can if you go to England. A cream tea is tea served with scones, jam and an impossibly delicious and rich comestible called ‘clotted cream’. Clotted cream is very rich and VERY fattening cream that is made from full cream milk and, alas, does not travel. Though, I understand that it is possible to make it, if you can get ahold of unpasteurized cream.

The Captain’s Cottage was utterly charming:

Stone walls, thatched roof and a sign saying “Cream Teas, Crab sandwiches and Dogs Welcome”. I’m not sure I even needed a recommendation – I would have picked this place anyway. Struggling mightily (and successfully) to resist the lure of a crab sandwich, we ordered a cream tea for two:


A properly built scone:

There is a lot more clotted cream on there than it looks like – it’s hiding beneath the jam. You should pile it up pretty high. I kept telling Mr. Kim, “Put on more – it’s not BUTTER, it’s CREAM!!!” The jam is strawberry, made from the tiniest, sweetest little berries that I’ve ever seen. I was a happy girl:


I wish I had taken a picture of the tea pots. They were lined up on a series of shelves in the dining room, as much decoration as serving pieces. In Three Bears fashion, they came in smallish pots for a one or two person service, medium sized ones (which we got) and family sized pots that seemed practically door mouse sized. The owner/cook/waitress was constantly coming out to get a pot from the shelf or returning to shelve freshly cleaned ones from the kitchen. As I have said, weird little things catch my attention sometimes.

Replete and sleepy, I found myself unable to climb that cliff to retrieve the car. Luckily, I had brought a husband. There goes Mr. Kim to get the car:

Thanks, Mr. Kim. Hmmm. He doesn’t seem to be responding.




We made our way slowly back to Dorchester to the hotel. It’s a good thing the GPS knew where we were going. Jeeves chose a route for us that for several hours largely looked like this:

Not for the first time, we were thankful to have it with us – we simply could not have found our way around without it. But what a grand adventure!

Dinner that night was (I blush) another convenience store sandwich. We were exhausted and on our way to Winchester the next morning and, like I said they were pretty good, exactly what we needed after a full day.