Iron age village, and some abbey ruins

Inside an iron age replica home.

2400 years ago, in the Iron Age, folks lived on a piece of land now known as Castell Henllys in southwestern Wales.  It's been reconstructed in situ, based on the growing body of knowledge about the Iron Age, and allows for a hands-on/head-in experience of life in an Iron Age village. 

One approaches the village through heavy woods near a stream, going by really odd looking "heritage" livestock, typical of the animals that would've been kept during the Iron Age.  

Cresting the hill of the iron age village.

The hill on which the fort was built was surrounded by a defensive berm, and an herb garden, and had this giant straw guy standing at the entrance (on the far right, above).  He was ready for the Beltane Festival (early June) when he'd be burned.  Burning Man in Wales.  Not an inconsiderable danger to the architecture of the time.

Then we saw the adorable village -- the Hershey folks should be able to use this somehow.  All thatched roofs, each unique and pretty cute.

Their granary building was off the ground, with good circulation so bugs and critters wouldn't be such a problem.   It was much smaller than the others.

This one was newly reroofed, standing about 30 feet in diameter.

Some of the thatched roofs were slanty. 

This one had a fire inside all the time, for visitors to see, smell, and it showed in its toasty top and slight droopiness.

Another straw guy was inside one of the houses, ready for the festival --has to emerge before he gets to flame.

Inside seemed pretty snug and spacious, but obviously lacked privacy.

Looking up at the roofing structure.

Most of what would have been excellent Roman Catholic churches in England were trashed by Henry VIII and protestant reformists in the 1500s.  I'll simplify this bit of history radically:  Henry VIII needed money for his wars and needed an heir (hence a new wife or 6 of them) and many of the English folks were tired of the catholic church's indulgences, excesses and money-grubbing (hence open to change).  The pope wasn't willing to reconsider (for lots of reasons) so Henry pretty much lightened the churches' treasuries, then sacked and removed important stuff (even removing the lead from the windows, useful for war) and set himself up as basically Britain's new pope, head of the still Roman Catholic church.  Lots of folks then helped themselves to the great supply of stones available at the abandoned abbeys for other building projects.  So lots of excellent, majestic ruins all over Britain.

We both like the ruins; somehow they have a more evocative, ethereal feel than the actual churches.  Tintern Abbey is just inside the Welsh border, near Chepstow north of the River Severn.

                                  

We both found the ruins to be delightfully peaceful, and lovely, moreso than so many of the churches we've been in.

The right door has a mini-me door cut into it.  Aww.  

Photographers heaven -- it was fun to watch the real photographers here.

Approaching the end of the road . . . and Dolly!

Whitby Abbey ruins, and surrounds.  Lovely country.

We have two weeks left on the road, then a few glorious weeks in Turkey with friends, then back to the states for Gen and Sara's wedding, with hopes/plans to settle down in October in Portland, finally.  We've been on the road for 13 months at this point.

I'll speak for both of us (which is neither wholly accurate, nor a good idea generally) in saying that  expectations included that the year's flexibility and basically unplanned itinerary would provide a chance to experience a life of serendipity, freedoms, and time indulgences, with lots of downtime, reading time, reflective time, introspection, leisurely adjustment to new places, tastes, cultures.   I had expected to have, and be able to process the life-enhancing if not -transforming insights the year would undoubtedly provide.  It's not happening.

And I've been trying to figure out why.  I awakened from another night of little sleep* in a moderately adequate bed realizing that there are reasons:

• we're often pretty tired --  the duration of our travels is taking its toll, we have no gym, no good way to exercise other than walking, which we do alot, and resting/relaxing/sleeping* on the road is of a very different character/quality than at home
• there's seldom a comfortable writing spot - we spend most of our writing time hunched over a coffee table on a pc** 
• we're often going somewhere or we've just gotten there (pack? unpack? groceries? wifi connect? maps?)
• and we need to be planning for the next stop
• and figuring out what to see/do/eat/where we are/how to get to point B on the bus
• or doing it -- we are here to see and do, afterall
• and probably the biggest:  solitude is necessary for reflection, and it's harder to come by than good peanut butter in this life
• And those are just the travel parts -- there's the home/finances/family/friends world that nourishes and needs care and feeding, too, by pc, always there.
• there's also the energy of being with one person day in and day out -- um, no matter how wonderful that partner is

I'm guessing this makes the year and travels sound like a downer.  Not so, far from it.  It's been fantastic, truly, but not in any kind of reflective, introspective, easily sharable form.

When we'd undertaken this life, we knew ourselves well enough to know that life on the road with constant movement would not be our cup of tea; that we'd be better off settling down, setting up a life, hence the teaching idea.  We had assumed that we'd wander in South America and recognize that right location, and set up that life there.  But when it came down to it, the world has felt too big, too cool, too fascinating and varied to stop in one place for a long time -- the nearby birds!  the ruins over there!  the mountains in that part of the world!  the civility and history there!  And on and on.  And we've kept moving, going, seeing, doing.  And it's been fascinating.  And we're usually pretty tired.  If there's a next time, perhaps we'd do it differently.  Perhaps - it is easier said than done.

It's easy to write of the joys of travel, the exotic/delightful sights, sounds, tastes, and the surprises and serendipity of what the world is and has to offer.  It's legion.  And that's what this blog shows.  Neither of us has found the time to write the blog entries that cover the experiences that have touched us deeply, the real personal highlights of the travels.  A blog entry generally takes a few hours to pull together; an entry for something that touched deeply takes far longer, if justice to the experience and feelings is even manageable in words.  Steve absolutely loved Seville; the Braga Portugal Good Friday procession was amazing for me, as was Day of the Dead in Peru; and oh, Granada; and so many more.

The thoughts above began awhile ago, when the opening line was "2 months left" then "6 weeks left", then "three", and now it's still not fully formed but I'm tired of considering it.  It's what is, and attempts to describe what's been a surprise.

Wow - you've read this far?!  Here's something lighter, a photo of the real Dolly, the cloned sheep.  She's a native, and quite special here in Edinburgh.

*this fortnight's contribution to tiredness:  too much light - it's light enough for a walk outside here in Edinburgh from 3:15AM when the sun first lightens the sky til 11PM, when it's finally getting dark enough to for a body to consider bed

**I've paper-journaled for years, usually at least fortnightly; I have made only 9 entries over the last 14 months.

British bits and bobs

  "Bits and bobs" is a term here used frequently for miscellaneous stuff.  One of our hosts, showing us around her kitchen said of a drawer:, "just bits and bobs", in a vintage store, a pile labeled "bits and bobs", that sort of thing. You probably know this, but Great Britain, aka Britain is comprised of Scotland, England and Wales - that island and its contents.

They cut skeleton keys, too, here -- because they're fully in use.

This "heritage" breed of pig had sparse curly fur.  

This highland cow (very hairy, long horns) was sharing a field with us while we walked along a
coastal path in northern England.  Gentle beast.

We're in the land of men in skirts - nice.

Livestock here is quite varied, and the operations/farms are pretty small scale.  In a national park bookstore I came a cross a book that had the 80 typical breeds of sheep to spot in northern England (like a beginner bird identification book).  Of pigs, we've probably seen 20 species; of cows, likely 20 or so.  None of the big herds or feeding lots of the US.

This is an all-in-one hand washing machine, a "uni-wash".  Button on the left is soap,
center is water, right button is dryer, all in a package about 2 feet by 1 foot.

This photo is from Scarborough, and the little rainbow boxes along the water are rental  sheds to store one's beach stuff. These are about 5X10X8 feet, and sell for about 40K Pounds  (about $60K), although some are available for just summer  weekly rental. 

This beachfront skateboard park has no grafitti.  !!

On Father's Day (same here as there) we went to Rievaulx Abbey (they're mostly all ruined, thanks to Henry VIII), and there were folks re-enacting the music of 15th century traveling musicians.  Fascinating stuff, mostly because it included excellent history lessons and perspective.  Among the gleanings:  most of our musical instruments and their names, are of Arab origin, brought back from the Crusades, including violins, lutes, drums, pipes.  Trousers have reason to be called "pairs".  The term "canter" describing one of the gaits of horses, derives from the Canterbury pilgrimage trail.  My ignorance is vast.

These medieval drums are called knackers, and are of Arabic origin.  Hence the term "knackered".    

Musicians with 15th century instruments -- homemade bagpipes, drums and lots more.  

An overshoe that allowed one to keep one's boots/shoes dry while walking through the dewy meadow in the morn.  15th century design.  

A pair of trousers -- literally.  Each leg tied on individually, not joined in the middle, hence the pair terminology.  Things changed in the next century, but the terminology remains.

An abbey gravesite that fit perfectly.  

The Sage music venue in Newcastle-upon-Tyne (River Tyne in the foreground) had folks climbing down its side.  We never figured it out.  

Descending.  

The Brits do bird suet in balls.  

Angel of the North, a huge (20X54 meters) copper and steel sculpture in northern England.  

We went to the very odd Museum of Victorian Science in a tiny town outside of Newcastle.  It was a genius science guy, Tony, who sat the two of us in a tiny room chock full of Victorian-era science machinery, and demonstrated and explained to us the rudiments and finer points of radiation, X-rays, magnetism, telegraph development, and so much more, for two hours.  Truly fascinating stuff.  And a weird experience.

Tony, weird science guy generating electricity.

Tony's glowing globes -- reflecting different sorts of radiation mixed with minerals.  

Royalty scarecrows in a garden.  Queen on the right with lady-in-waiting helping her.  

Never seen such a huge crab, of Japanese origin, in a lovely little museum in Newcastle.  Steve just in back of it.
Stuff of nightmares.  

Double helix out of shopping carts.  Newcastle, outside a lovely pub.

Eggs for sale at a flea market in norhtern England.  Lots of people  have hens.

An overworked bubble machine taking part in an Aero (candy bar) promotion.

Quail eggs again - first we'd seen outside of Portugal.  Yum. And homemade haggis, below.  Umm.

We visited Edinburgh's Central Library - nice place, with a decent collection, and they're still hiring (unlike most libraries we've visited in Britain, which are experiencing closings and cutbacks).  They also acknowledged Andrew Carnegie with a marble bust and a plaque.  He was a Scot, and did as much for British libraries as he did for the US ones.