An intimate moment…just me and the sheep…I had to whisper. It was late in the day (at this latitude, it’s light until 10 pm), and I was really tired, but I had to make a little Castlerigg detour before reaching my destination for the night and my B&B. Join me for this private stone circle moment — and share one of your own…if you dare.
Cooking Up a Cumbrian Fry, B&B Style
I’m staying with Val and David Fisher, who run Howe Keld, my favorite B&B in Keswick — the best home-base town for exploring the Cumbrian Lake District in northern England. It occurred to me that a great B&B is great only when it’s run by hands-on owners…and there’s a lot of work they have to do behind the scenes. I surprised Val and David with my little camera during their busy time in the kitchen so that you can have a Back Door look at how the traditional Cumbrian Fry (breakfast) is cooked up. This hearty meal came in handy as the sun started to shine, kicking off a fabulous day of filming. We finished our TV show with all the sunny glory we had been waiting — and praying — for.
If you can’t see the video below, watch it on YouTube.
Random Scraps
I’m back home now after a great travel season. On the road for four months of the last five, I marvel at the experiences I enjoyed and am thankful for the work I was able to accomplish. I did my share to update our various guidebooks (with work in Italy, Hungary, Prague, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Spain, and England) and produced the last three shows of our new series (Basque, North Spain, Helsinki/Tallinn), which debuts nationally next month.
Settling back into my office, I look ahead at an exhilarating year with my staff, designing our new content into usable material to help Americans travel smarter than ever.
I have a few random scraps in my blog notes file that must get their day in the sun:
In Vienna, if you die in the hospital you are automatically an organ donor. It’s like a wrecking yard of human bodies.
In Conwy in North Wales, the fisherman’s harbor was fixed up by EU money, but EU regulations require that fish must be transported in refrigerated trucks. Those trucks couldn’t fit through the gate to the new harbor, so they set up shop in the next town. Now Conwy has a fine fisherman’s harbor…with no fishermen.
Windsor, which is just under the landing path of planes coming into London’s Heathrow Airport, is a delightful town at night. It has inexpensive B&Bs (compared to London prices), a wonderful pedestrian zone along the Thames River and in the shadow of the hulking Windsor Castle, and an enticing array of small restaurants. Windsor gave me a peaceful and charming last night in England before flying out.
I am a sucker for old, historic, black-and-white photos. Many small and charming towns have no museums or organized way to let people know what they were like a century ago. But a few hotel lobbies, pubs, and cafés collect and display old photos, serving as a small history gallery for visitors. While it may sound weird, I find this is a plus when I consider recommending a place.
 |
| If this offends you, so will Blackpool. Enlarge photo |
 |
| Blackpool daze. Enlarge photo |
 |
| Backstage with Christopher, aka “Hope.” Enlarge photo |
For silly and personal reasons (which I won’t share), I included Blackpool in Europe’s Top 20 Destinations in the special edition Smithsonian magazine we recently produced with the wonderful people on that staff. Visiting Blackpool last month, I was hoping it would charm me in the gut-bomb, white-trash way only Blackpool can. But the place depressed me. Two men greeted me by showing me their new tattoos that still made their butt cheeks all red. And it went downhill from there.
I desperately needed a couple of good B&Bs to recommend in my Blackpool chapter. I found a great one, but the woman who runs it was furious at me for my industrial espionage methods of research. (I drop in and say I need a room. They show me a couple as if I’m a prospective customer. Then, once I’ve seen how they treat travelers without knowing who I am, I tell them I don’t really need a room and that I’m researching for a guidebook.) She just stopped talking with me, so I couldn’t complete my research interview to get the information on the hotel I needed to write up a new listing. It was strange to be essentially thrown out of a hotel that I’ll still write up and recommend and send lots of business to in the coming year via my guidebook.
Blackpool is a study in people watching. For a long time I observed a woman, in a carnival-like trance, digging dreamily into her piggy bank, dropping in coin after coin in hopes of winning a tiny teddy bear.
The people of Blackpool are so impressed by the goofy tableaux that line their main drag (big, garish, cartoon-like installations that are strewn with little electric lights). I can’t imagine that they were impressive, even back in the 1960s when they were set up. But then I went to the Funny Girls drag show, had a wonderful time, met one of the performers — a gorgeous Filipino named Christopher — who “absolutely loves my show.” And I remembered what Blackpool was all about: unbridled, unpretentious, lowbrow fun.
As I say in my guidebook, the Cumbrian Lake District in North England is beautiful, but its beauty is even more striking when coming from crass Blackpool. Keswick is my slam-dunk favorite home base for exploring the Lake District. Intending to freshen up my hotel and B&B listings, I spent a morning visiting new places. I toured a great guesthouse, thinking I was incognito. When I told Gillian (who ran the place) who I was, she said, “You’re not going to insult my carpet, are you?” Startled and confused, I asked what brought on that random comment. She said that her friend was in my book, and I described her place as “good in spite of the tired, kitschy carpet,” and she considered that insulting. It was funny to me because I didn’t even think she knew who I was, much less how I described the carpet in a competing B&B.
Now that I’m home, people ask where I’m heading next. I have no idea. While I’ve yet to give it a thought, I know I’ll spend next April, May, July, and August in Europe. But right now, I do know that until then, I’ll be home. I’ll be enjoying the challenges and rewards of my work and becoming something more than a temporary local — with gusto.
Travel Tip: Take a Hike
 |
|
Enlarge photo |
I just spent 10 days in a car exploring Britain. I forgot to note the mileage, but I started in London, scoured the Cotswolds, toured North Wales, and then drove up north to the Windermere Lake District (near Keswick), before returning to London. Total cost for diesel: £120 (about $185).
For the first time, I really took time to hike in the Cotswolds and the Lake District. And when I think back on the highlights of the last 10 days, those hikes were it. Nothing too demanding — just hiking through farmland from Stow-on-the-Wold through the Slaughters to Bourton-on-the-Water and back in the Cotswolds; and up along Catbells, high above the lake called Derwentwater in the Lake District.
The point: I can’t imagine a better way to spend three hours in a day. Every day has three hours to spare. What else is so important between 4 o’clock and dinnertime? With these walks, I take home vivid memories.
In the Cotswolds: farms in action viewed from behind, ducks rudely butt-up in millponds, rabbits popping up in fields like some video game challenge, ancient wind-sculpted trees, wet and slippery kissing gates, and slender slate church spires marking distant villages where a hot cuppa tea awaits.
In the Lake District, I struggled up and over Catbells — a ridge walk I’ve recommended for years (and felt guilty having never actually hiked). The weather almost kept me in. But I was glad I ventured out — the wind “blowing the cobwebs out” (as my B&B host warned) once atop Catbells ridge, the comedic baa-ing of sheep, being the stick figure on the ridge for those observing from distant farms or boats on the lake…as others have always been the stick figures for me.
And, oh, the joy of a pub after a good hike. Studying the light on ruddy faces while sipping the local brew in a pub has always been part of the magic of travel in Britain. When your face is weather-stung and your legs ache happily with accomplishment, the pub ambience sparkles even better.
About the weather: In Britain, you don’t wait for the weather to get good. Blustery weather is part of the scene. Consider it a blessing. The majority of “bad weather” comes with broken spells of brightness. Don’t get greedy — you wish for and are thankful for brightness, not sunshine. As they say here, there’s no bad weather…just inappropriate clothing. And if you’re in a hiking area and your clothing is inappropriate, your B&B host can likely loan you a heavy coat (along with the best local map).
Hiking along the ridge, with the weather — like a dark army — storming overhead, the wind buffeting in my ears, my camera bulging but dry under my coat, and a commanding 360-degree lakes view…makes me want to turn cartwheels.