Day trippers

5.10.10

Bristol, England

Ahoy again from afar, though it's really the same distance away as the last post. No displacement, no cry; that's what I always say, constantly, much to the chagrin of my partner in crime. He says I have a problem, but I just say, "No displacement, no cry."

What do I mean by that bit of physics terminology? What is displacement, anyway? Does anyone really know? Yes. Millions understand the concept, and billions have lived it, which is quite unfortunate. But occasionally, these NDNC days, as they are known, involve loads of distance, taking you there and back again, as it were (mountains, Gandalf!). These last few days have seen a great deal of traveling to and fro, zipping to all the local sights of southeastern England

So on with it already! Where have we been? The first two days of our stay with Paul and Deb were meant for complete rest and relaxation, allowing us to recover from the monumental effort of reaching their house in two days. We scarcely did a thing other than eat, drink, and sit, recline, or lay. I, personally, enjoy a good sit, but there are those who prefer to recline, cool drink in hand and sunglasses on. Friday night, we checked out a new fish & chips place, indulging in an Olde English standby, fried cod and chips (smothered in salt and vinegar, no less). Saturday, Seaney D and I took a stroll down to the rugby field to witness the slaughter of the opposition by Paul's team for which he acts as the physio. Before the game started, we were treated to complimentary massages, Sean getting worked by Paul and I being tended to by a young woman with terribly knifelike elbows. Between the massage and the match, we wandered into town, securing for lunch 5 scones with clotted cream and 2 cold pasties, all for less than 6 quid. Pasties are meat-and-potato-filled turnovers with a deliciously flaky and doughy crust, meant always to be served piping hot or at least warm, but never with ice chunks in the middle. But a few minutes in the armpit or groin region can really "heat a pasty up," as they say, and we were soon enjoying cool meatpies on a beach bench.

At this beach, there are dozens of signs warning of the sinking mud. Apparently, people would drive their cars up to the water and summarily lose them to the rising tide and, you guessed it, the sinking mud. Today's query: Who drives their car over hundreds of feet of sand to idle at the edge of the low tide, especially when there await teams of donkeys ready to carry you across the beachfront? That's true, actually, but Sean and I had to get back to the rugby match before we had a chance to take a spin on a donkey. And anyway, no donkey, no cry!

Though this day was very relaxed and involved almost no voluntary movement on our part, we managed to have some fun at night. Following the match, the teams and their supporters joined in the club for some drinks and to witness Europe facing off against the US in the Ryder Cup, which came to a thrilling end yesterday (Jimenez is a man-beast). After two hours, Weston's team held a ceremony known as Kangaroo Court, which involves a mock court punishing the team for silly, petty, or, occasionally, very, very serious offenses (this year there were only three murders punished, with two going unsolved). The penalty was almost always alcohol, which the accused gladly accepted. Later that night, we went out to a local pub and met Paul's brother and his family. Jodi, their daughter of 17 years, had just passed her driving exam and was celebrating in fine form (the drinking age is actually 18 here, but I guess driving is fine cause for drinking!). As soon as she heard our accents, she nearly went comatose from sheer excitement. Apparently, Man vs. Food is her favorite show, and she began grilling us (punintended) on whether the food in America is just like what she sees on TV. She kept asking us to "just speak" so she could bask in the glory of a Midwestern accent, the purest of accents. All the while she kept repeating, "This is the best day evaaaah! Best day evaaaaaaah!!!" then she'd whisper, looking far off in the distance, "Best evaaaaa..." and just leave it sort of hanging. I didn't know that a person could get so excited over Man vs. Food, the fact that we eat peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and the way we say "water bottle," but, then again, she was absolutely hammered. Still, I'll chalk this up as a victory for the bikers.

Sunday morning, Deb drove us to Bristol for the first of our daytrips. We started the adventure by visiting the strangest art museum I've ever seen. Let me put it this way: The first exhibit was a large room with a telephone machine in it that made clicking noises every minute, representing something about Sudan. Next, we made our way to a more traditional museum, which had a fine collection of European art and some local modern paintings, in addition to a massive display of silver items and glassware from ancient China. To top it all off, they had a great exhibit on dinosaurs!!! The best part of Bristol came next: its massive cathedral. The oldest burials there took place in the 1300s. That's much older than I am!!! Finally, we took in the rest of the wonderful city, making our way to the very top and getting a massive view of the infamous suicide suspension bridge I mentioned in an earlier post. It seems much less deadly from up there, but I guess it's the fall more than the bridge that does the trick.

Ah, on to yesterday, one hell of a glorious day. The sun was out in force, and the gentlest of breezes kept us cool. We took full advantage of the weather, seeing Glastonbury (final resting place of King Arthur), Wells (there are no whales in Wells but plenty of wells in Wales), Cheddar (or Cheddah), and Axbridge (very small). The most impressive sights were the Tor of Glastonbury and its Abbey and the cathedral of Wells, shown here. Massive and simply stunning, with some of the most intricate carving I have seen. There were heads perched everywhere, inside and out, jutting out of walls and peering down as if to warn you of what is to come. Ah, but the most supremely tubular thing we witnessed was the Immesurable Chasm of Time, symbolized by some 237 steps through a forested hill on the way to Cheddar Gorge. Hows that for immesurable?

Today, Sean and I took a day trip on our own power, unloading our bikes and swiftly flying to Bath. The roundtrip was just shy of 70 miles, but without any extra weight the trip passes quickly. Bath boasts a superbly intact ancient city, with cobblestone streets and stone columns everywhere. The main attraction is the Roman baths, which we were content with seeing from the outside and saving some 23 pound. The abbey is fairly impressive, as we have been finding with any old, intact religious structure. It seems they really knew the secret to keeping church attendance up, enticing the populace with ENORMOUS PALACES OF GOD. One of the coolest architectural displays I have seen so far came in the form of an arc of huge houses, known as the Royal Crescent. True, this is the precursor to our subdivisions and apartment complexes, but it does so just as The Simpsons acts as a precursor to all future American comedy. Do you dare deny The Simpsons? I didn't think so.

In short, our time here has been both restful and action-packed. Perhaps my favorite aspect is Deb's wonderful culinary creations, both for tea (dinner) and pudding (dessert). We're planning on staying for a few more days, but soon we will be off toward Oxford and Cambridge, two of the finest universities in the land (second to one, of course). A word of advice for achieving any aspirations: don't find time, make time, for you only die once.