Day 18: Whitby

The weather smiled upon us, sun broadcasting intense light onto my two sets of curtains well before 6am - this did not wake me. Annoying neighbours did! I rose at 7am, showered and discovered my hairdryer did not work. Disgruntled and too bothered to ask for another, I had cereal and a hot chocolate at 7:30 before rambling down to the beach. I had to climb down a pathless hill to accomplish this.

The most aesthetically pleasing hairdryer ever.

My mission? To find Whitby jet or fossils. 

Donning thongs and rolling up my jeans, I let my toes enter icy water briefly before unleashing my telescopic lens and keen eyes. It was difficult because my hair went everywhere and the sun was blinding, especially as it reflected off the water. Dogs and their owners passed by - one dog even dropped its tennis ball at my feet!

I returned to the hotel with dry hair, numb toes and a rock that wasn’t jet. I sat with Cazy as he ate then we packed the car. He dropped me at Whitby station before hightailing it to nearby Heartbeat locations. I walked at a leisurely pace, sighting the Australian flag flying unabashedly over the Captain Cook Museum (though the UK flag caught more wind!).

I tried the traditional Whitby jet store (W. Hamond) but nothing suited my style. Eventually I found some nice celtic-esque pieces in silver at another shop. Necklace, earrings and ring all totalled to about £82 - I actually thought I’d spent more!

I bought some amusing Dracula coffins from a chocolate store (strawberry/champagne filling, apparently) and paused in my explorations when I caught sight of a devilish car with the numberplate "DEAD 666". The car was accompanied by a couple decked out like characters from a gothic novel. Bemused, I continued to catch sight of gothic and steampunk costumes everywhere I went.

The very, very narrow streets of Whitby were quaint but it was hairy getting vehicles down there - I had to press myself into a doorway for two vans to pass by me! Many times I watched a real life version of the endlessly frustrating game Rush Hour.

Your own two feet are the best type of transportation in this part of Whitby.

I walked to the end of the east pier where I rang Mum in Sydney to gloat and then returned to the cramped streets where I finally seated myself at the Abbey Steps Tea Rooms. I was the first to arrive and ensconced myself in the back corner with a pot of herbal tea (mango and strawberry) and what seemed to be a scone sandwich. I wrote some stories while customers poured in. 

I heard the owner/waitress/cook/cashier tell other customers that she was about to get busy on the weekend because the Whitby Gothic festival was due to start the next day - this is a biannual event in Whitby and a much needed boost to the local economy.

 After tea, I climbed the Abbey steps and explored St Mary’s Church (inside a sign warned people not to ask where Captain James Cook used to sit - apparently the "discoverer" of my country passed his apprenticeship here) before I re-entered the Abbey on the OVP - a chance for blue skies in my photos!

Now that's more like it!

I roamed along the outside wall for a while and managed to return to the car park in time to be picked up by Cazy. 

I napped during the drive, feeling unwell, until near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. We found our hotel - this place is a bit of a dive. Yikes but it was cheap!! And has wifi. :P 

The room is okay but in this “twin” I’m sleeping on yet another foldout lounge while Cazy has the double. Grrr. Decor old and tired. A used condom is in a drawer. Ick. It’s a cross between a hostel and a B&B. We have a private bathroom but other rooms here don’t.

Time to pass out.

Day 17: Arbor Low & Whitby

After a pleasant breakfast laid out for us (the cat barged her way in and jumped on a chair, resting her chin on the table to gaze wistfully at the Marmite jar), I returned to the stones and even walked to the burial mound I’d spotted yesterday. 

An older sheep freaked out when I neared some lambs and brayed, calling the lambs into a retreat. I dropped and retrieved my lens cap in my mad dash from the evil-looking sheep but I doubt it would have charged. Glad to leave all that poo behind!

The burial mound.

As we left the unattended B&B, we watched a school group file through the property to the stone circle. On we drove (a brief stop at a Shell at some point - horrifying toilet) and made it to Whitby before the 2pm check in. 

We decided on Whitby Abbey in the meantime - the rain worsened, of course. We decked ourselves out in rain gear, flashed the OVP at the ticket office and began our audio tour. The toilets, incidentally, were even worse than the one we used at the Shell. My guide died and so did the next one so I didn’t bother with it, instead struggling to take photos under a protective but broken and swaying umbrella. It rained. Yuck. The SLR lens is a very large target.

An inspiring sight.

I took fewer photos because of this but Whitby Abbey is impressive and desolate (also fucking cold). I can see how these ornate ruins (the pillars are quite a bit rougher and more worse for wear than those in Westminster Abbey!) inspired many tales, including Bram Stoker’s Dracula. 

Fortunately, no vampires were harmed in the taking of this photo.

Speaking of, there is currently a 19th century gothic festival on in Whitby. Our first clue was a couple in the Whitby Abbey gift shop - one of which wore a funky, awesome coat. 

We then checked into warmth. Two separate double rooms! Ah, no snoring. Apparently I growled at Cazy last night when he went to the toilet. Anyway, he walked to town (I only made it to Costcutter) and I caught up on TV shows.

Okay. Bedtime.

Ciao!

Day 16: Nottingham & Arbor Low

We spent most of our morning uncertain about what to do as many of the things we wished to see were only open on weekends. Creswell Crags only runs cave tours on the weekend, for example. After dithering over breakfast, we walked to Broadmarsh Shopping Centre and located “City of Caves”. It was astonishing to find a tourist attraction in a shopping centre, much less elaborate caves as old as medieval times!

We chose not to wear hardhats and descended the stairs with an audio guide. An earthy dank smell arose and we found ourselves in the caves. There were wells (I threw a penny into the Make A Wish well, hoping to be inspired by the caves), rooms damp with water and low ceilings. It was not claustrophobic - more cosy. A little unsettling perhaps. The guide took us to a room where clandestine meetings were supposedly held. A hole in the ceiling was said to be used by a boy on lookout to drop a stone into the room, providing a warning of approaching enemies. 

The lighting is very eery down there.

Then we entered the tannery which had pits carved into the floor (would have been full of piss and shit - lovely) and a grand pillar holding up the ceiling (it once held up a road!). We passed into a cave with a poorer pillar (but this was a younger one - 1700s as opposed to the 1500s pillar).

They don't make pillars like they used to.

We viewed an air raid shelter made during WWII (cave shelters like this one saved countless lives) and then were confronted with the cellars of Victorian slums long demolished for the railway.

The marshes of Nottingham escaped a plague in the 17th century, something which appealed to wealthy people seeking a new home. But then the slums arose - those living in the cellars dug extra space into the malleable sandstone.

Speakers provide ambient sounds in this tourist attraction but you can still hear trickling water and rumbling trams, buses and cars overhead. The whole place shakes. History buried beneath progress.

Now that's just creepy.

I truly believe these caves have provided shelter for millennia, the ancient tool marks disguised by descendants widening the caves. 

We emerged into the gift shop. After browsing the shopping centre, we found an awesome comic book shop. Then it was time for lunch at Ye Old Trip to Jerusalem Inn (the oldest inn in England, the sign boasts). It was built into the sandstone of Castle Rock. We enjoyed our meals there before passing through a Sainbury’s then drove to Arbor Low.

Satnav refuses to acknowledge its existence. As we neared it, we noted the old fences made from only stone (no mortar!) and the rolling green hills full of lambs.

We were greeted warmly and shown the B&B. No one is staying in the double room so we have the lounge, kitchen and bathroom to ourselves. Wifi is free!

The owner offered us cake and the cats offered us company. A female black-and-white cat (very friendly) demanded attention from us which we gave. The cat followed us in and proceeded to hungrily link the Marmite jar until I kicked it out.

The stone circle, owned by the B&B family, requires £1 for entry but we were allowed to visit it for free. The sky was bleak as we roamed over the very impressive ditch, capturing the stones with our cameras. The stones are flat or fallen - who knows? The owner boasts that Arbor Low “is cooler than Stonehenge because you can climb over it”.

Cooler than Stonehenge? Hmm.

The English Heritage sign was not as enthusiastic about people climbing on the stones. The lambs didn’t care. I was excited to be unchecked by any security guards. What a place! A burial mound lies at one end and the ditch is large. You can’t see over the henge at some points - not a very defensive structure, then! Another burial mound is a short walk away.

Heathens!

It smells of country and poo here. 

We went to a village pub and had freaking huge meals. Back for an evening in. So...it’s nice here. Glad the double is not rented!

Goodnight.

Day 15: Nottingham

We departed a little after 9am (after latching onto wifi at at a restaurant) for Sherwood Forest and arrived there bang on opening time. We waltzed ahead of the crowd to the Major Oak, taking photos all the while. Mostly young narrow trees lined the paths with the occasional wider tree. I thought it would be very difficult for an outlaw to hide there - but the signs informed us that the great oaks are now gone and in the early 20th century there was 90% more forest than there is today.

I nicknamed the tiny forest "Sherwood Patch".

I was taken with the idea of the Robin Hood legend being more akin to the outlawing the pagan Green Man. A mystical figure guarding the last pocket of resistance against the changing destructive world.

We came across a sculpture (the Laughing Tree - somewhat odd) and then the Major Oak greeted us. It was fat and lumbering and held up with poles. A little less than 1200 years old, it somehow survived the axe - either because the wood was no good...or because it was already being sold as Robin Hood’s tree.

The last survivor

We bought souvenirs. I had a hot chocolate. We returned to the centre of Nottingham, parked the car and hurried back along the canals to Nottingham Castle. We made it in time for the 1pm cave tour. Along with a few others, we were led through locked gates to Mortimer’s Hole - a hand-dug tunnel through the rock that was used to bring supplies up to the castle.

A cave-in opened this section to the sky.

While the tour guide explained how sandstone is formed, Cazy and I (Sydney sandstone veterans) exchanged knowing glances. The tour was short but the guide told us interesting stories about the history of the castle (Richard III rode from the castle to do battle with Henry Tudor). We hesitantly climbed down sandstone steps that have been used to ferry tourists through Castle Rock since the 1800s. 

We reached the bottom and noted how many buildings were still dependent on the caves. Centuries ago, houses were built into the rock though most of them have now been removed.

If God gives you a rock, make rock houses!

Cazy and I were the only tourists who opted to follow the guide back up the steps (well, we paid three quid each for the privilege, damn it!). It was challenging and I wish I’d gone back the easy way.

We bought gifts and went back to the hotel. My Robin Hood fantasies are thoroughly ruined. But caves! Caves are cool.

Is Robin Hood the Green Man of Sherwood?

Tomorrow - Arbor Low.

Night.

Day 14: Nottingham

We left Caswell Bay at 11am after a mishap with the kitchen sink and headed for Nottingham. Cazy ignored the satnav's suggested route and double-backed across the Severn. On the way, I saw a banner strung up on a home in Swansea that said, “Her deeds will shame the devils in hell.” As Maggie Thatcher has recently passed, it could only be her that had inspired such public vitriol.

We arrived in Nottingham at 3:20pm and checked in. I was anxious because the last admission to Nottingham Castle is at 4pm.

We legged it along Nottingham Canal and took a few wrong turns but followed Castle Boulevard and Castle Road. We bolted up the hill leading to the castle entrance. Cazy was always several steps ahead of me which was lucky because at 3:59pm they were shutting the gates. We hurried in, thusly shut inside.

You - shall - not - pass!

I was immediately dismayed to not find the fabled castle or indeed any significant buildings that dated before the 17th century. A children’s playground is on the level grassed hill that contained a 12th/13th century inner bailey. We circulated the much later residence which had been gutted by fire but restored - this land on Castle Rock was once owned by a very unpopular fellow who opposed a bill to give more voting rights to the common folk. So they burned his domain.

I'd burn his house because of that creepy statue.

It’s easy to see why William the Conquerer built a wooden castle on Castle Rock in 1067 - what a view! You can gaze down on all of Nottingham. We took many photos of the view before turning our attention to the “young” garden. We found the original 13th century bridge that would have crossed a moat to the middle bailey.

Ye olde bridge.

It was devastating not to see the castle that inspired legends. At least we got to see the base of one of the original towers. A friendly security guard took our photo and he then released us onto the street. I immediately spied a red telephone box nearby.

We walked at a much slower pace down the hill, finding an old 14th century building across the lane (it had been moved from its original position) before inspecting a Robin Hood statue. We studied the various tunnels and holes in the side of Castle Rock (sandstone, which is very easy to chip into - I thought this a tactical error on William I’s part, frankly, because anyone could dig in underneath!). We passed Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, a pub which is much older than the newer “castle”.

Robin Hood takes aim at Nottingham Castle.

Currently in the hotel, surviving without wifi - I feel as though a limb has been lopped off.

Adios!

Day 13: Oystermouth Castle

After a languid morning, we drove to Oystermouth Castle in The Mumbles a little after 11am. The grey clouds loomed overhead and I fretted as Cazy attempted to find a free parking spot (both free of cars and free of tariffs). Rain pelted the windshield and  soured my mood but Oystermouth Castle beckoned.

What happened to yesterday's dazzling blue sky!?

Juggling an umbrella and the SLR camera, I approached the castle and proceeded through the entrance arch. After paying £5 for the two of us, I roamed with my brother through a multitude of rooms, stairs, nooks and crannies. We began on top of the visitor centre on a glass floor, apparently the location of the chapel. I stood in the confessional area for a time. Then we spent a while trying to find the other areas and that was fun due to our unhurried pace. We could see the obvious remains of fireplaces and a few of the nine toilets the castle ruins are reputed to have.

Don't look down!

We noted that the stones had two main phases - 12th and 13th century (indicated by red and yellow squares respectively). We also saw what appeared to be in situ rocks built into the walls. We clambered onto the curtain wall and took in the view of The Mumbles and Swansea Bay. The castle is perched atop a hill and earthworks - a good place to defend.

Spooky...

There is a Welsh flag flying at Oystermouth which I saw as the last laugh, the last claim on a castle built to keep the Welsh under control. By this time, there were only a few drops of rain which made things easier. We trundled down the narrow spiral stairs to a level near the visitor centre and purchased wares. I bought items to inspire my writing.

The last laugh.

We returned to our apartment for lunch then I finishe...did I finish my book this morning or then? I forget.

At 3pm, I forced myself out into the drab weather for a walk to Langland Bay. It was cool and windy which made the umbrella fight to escape my right wrist. I mostly relied on my rain jacket which was sufficient. The rain here comes in spurts, it seems.

The 1 3/4 mile walk to Langland was pleasant (probably two miles from the apartment) and I noted the crazy 45 degree angle of the cliff rocks. They looked smooth but were gritty and rough when I ran my palm over their dark surfaces.

Nearer to Langland, I saw a woman with her two grandchildren. They had come from a track that led into the bushes. The woman plucked a snippet from a plant next to the path and informed her grandchildren, “This is wild garlic.”

They all had a taste - it must have been strong from their reactions!

I turned back at Langland Bay and bought brownies on my way past the cafe at Caswell Bay.

Bedtime I think!!

Day 12: Caswell Bay

Our “holiday in a holiday” continues and I love it. The view is superb. This morning Cazy dropped me off at Swansea Bay and I meandered back through the shops at The Mumbles. I purchased postcards, thongs, a bag and some chocolate (a lollipop style treat with “Mumbles” written on it) then began the trek back to Caswell Bay. It wasn’t so bad - I'm very glad I practiced walking on fire trails in Australia!

It's all Welsh to me!

At Caswell Bay (the first entrance - there are two ways to get to the beach) I took photos then continued walking on the narrow winding road (I was terrified whenever I heard a car!) to the apartment where I met Cazy again.

Is this the best beach in Britain?

I ate lunch then visited our side of Caswell Bay, snapping voraciously at the scenery with the SLR’s telescopic lens. The water lapped at my thonged feet - cold but bearable. A blue sky and radiant sun crowned the view and many people were gathered on the beach. Quite a few dogs were leaping through the waves. I watched, bemused, as two teenaged boys climbed some of the cliffs to reach the track to Langland Bay. 

Camera porn!

I returned to our “home”. Maybe we'll do Oystermouth Castle tomorrow.

Bye. :D